Caprice
by Reiki-Piratical
Summary: Sabaody: 1800s. Dr. Trafalgar receives an invitation to 'cleanse' the demonic grandchild of Lord Eustass while Lord Portgas arrives at the Gol estate to find only a single servant, Marco, whom he makes his personal valet. Primitive and occasionally predatory desires take hold, ensuring that no one is left alone. Supernatural, Victorian Au. Mainly Kidd/Law, with a side of Ace/Marco.
1. Chapter I

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_**Caprice**_

Chapter I

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The methodical clopping of hooves on interlocked stone was soothing in the doctor's ears. He had received a summons to an estate on the other side of Sabaody, lovingly called the Sabaody Archipelago for the city's tendency to support an island-like layout, clusters of houses linked together by stretches of woodland that surrounded cobblestone roads. He believed going straight through the heart of these clusters rather than following some of the hackneyed dirt trails through the woods would be the fastest way to arrive at the estate. Still, he imagined the rough riding over debris that settled upon the stone streets caused horses to slip shoes all the time, so he remained vigilant for nails that would possibly injure his soft-footed steed.

There was another inevitable inconvenience to his plan. Within the vastness of the city he was well known by the locals. People called out his name, always accompanying the salutation with a friendly wave, and more often then not bid him to stop and chitchat. He obliged them without hesitation. To ignore them was folly after working so hard to build up his reputation as a caregiver accessible to all, even those in the lowest of classes.

"Doctor! Dr. Trafalgar! Have you time to stop in and check up on my ailing father?" a young woman asked, smoothing back her tawny hair as she leaned over the gate to her cottage home. He knew her as a poor labourer's daughter with a house full of bawdy brothers. "I fear his condition is worsening. I don't know how much longer he has left…"

He could hardly deny such a heart-wrenching request.

Bringing his white stallion around to the fence and off the brutality of the hard street, Trafalgar slipped from the saddle, medical bag in hand. It did not contain a full array of medical instruments, but he knew this particular man's condition. He had, after all, played a starring role in his suffering.

The girl brought him inside the little home and up the stairs to a bedchamber he had been in many times during the past few months. A servant appeared to try and relieve him of his coat, but he stressed that he couldn't possibly stay for more than a few minutes. He was late as it was.

He heard the haggard breathing before he saw the man, wrapped in an assortment of blankets, everything the family could afford to spare in hopes that the warmth would break his fever. This man, who'd lost much muscle and fat until he was little more than bones with skin to cover his vital organs, was coated in a thick sweat that attracted the flies that flew in through the holes in the ceiling. He looked positively cadaverous, yet his appearance did not elicit feelings of sympathy from the doctor.

He knelt down beside the man, who was fast asleep and snoring noisily. Then he bid the girl to leave the room, for decency's sake, and withdrew a bottle of opaque liquid from his heavy leather bag. The bottle was unmarked, but he knew exactly what was contained within it. He was the only one who knew the origins of the substance. He had made it, and as far as he knew he was the only one who dared to possess such a drug.

Carefully he drew back the blankets and exposed the shoulder of the man, which he had injured on the job many months before. The shoulder wound had become infected, and it was with the opaque liquid that Dr. Trafalgar had managed to save the man's life months back. However, the drug did have a catch. A fatal catch.

It was designed to prolong suffering. And prolong suffering it certainly did.

He twisted the lid off the bottle ever so carefully so as not to spill even a drop of his special tonic. Then he held it up to the sun that streamed through an open window across the room. With trained precision, he tilted the bottle and a drop of the substance sluggishly spilt onto his finger. That would do.

He located the pink scar where a piece of machinery had penetrated the flesh and brought his finger down on the skin, feeling the fever that raged on. The liquid that did not affect him in the slightest had a near instantaneous effect on this man, activating as soon as it came into contact with the skin cells. The light bruising that had been present since the accident all that time ago began to recede, and fresh pinkish skin prevailed. The man's entire body felt the tingle of the liquid, no more than a bee sting or a drop of rain.

His fever broke, his sweat dried, his eyes previously squeezed shut with an intensity brought about by hours upon hours of aching pain fluttered open… It was the miracle of miracles.

After several minutes of blinking at the dust swirling around the room, the man sluggishly turned his head in Trafalgar's direction. "Feeling better?" the doctor asked with a friendly smile and glittering eyes.

The man's fingers twitched, grasping the tweed blankets and then releasing them as if surprised he had feeling in his fingers. His pale face, no longer a sickly yellow, was further marred by an expression of deep bewilderment. At last, when he began to sit up and blink with more rigour at the world around him, the man spoke.

"I've not felt this lively in ages," he rasped, voice grating from a lack of use. There was the usual hint of disbelief, followed by scepticism of his own body's health that Trafalgar was loath to hear. "I…I…"

"You should continue to rest," the doctor advised, moving into a standing position and gently pushing the man back down into his bed. He was still weak, even under the influence of the drug. "I shall come and check up on you in a week. I imagine you'll be feeling better by then. Perhaps this time we'll have fought off that wretched infection, no?"

The man grunted, then reached a hand up to rub at the place the opaque liquid had permeated his skin. He could feel nothing but a fiery longing to use the limb, a sense of euphoria at being healed. So different from when he'd fallen asleep earlier, with his shoulder and the rest of his frail body slowly succumbing to an agonizing death. It had felt like death, certainly. But if it were death, then how had this doctor brought him back to life?

He came to the decision that the man was a miracle worker. It was the talk of Sabaody that this man had a gift for healing all physical grievances, but until now he had yet to believe such a thing.

"I shall perform a bloodletting upon you the next time I visit, as that will help ease the final bits of the infection out of your shoulder," the doctor said, beginning to head for the door. "Is this alright?"

"Yes, yes, of course," the man said without hesitation. Bloodletting was what everyone spoke of, indeed perhaps one of the many miracles behind the man. They said he had a technique that emptied the body of all evils. Even if the technique was fast becoming archaic, the belief that it did indeed do some good was entirely the legacy of Dr. Trafalgar and his previous patients.

Dr. Trafalgar smiled politely. If only the man knew whom he really was. "Alright then. I shall take my leave. I have a very important client to attend to. Perhaps you've heard of the family? Anyway, it is Lord Eustass' grandson. To the South."

The man's listless eyes blinked up at him, eyelashes as dusty as every other surface in the room. "Lord Eustass…" he trailed off. "Ah, I did not know he had a grandson, much less any offspring."

Trafalgar continued to smile as he gathered himself up and smoothed down his black coat, fiddling with the cuffs. "Lord Eustass lost all of his offspring, and wife too. Now it is just he and the grandson." Trafalgar chuckled as he recounted the urgency of the letter that arrived earlier this morning. "Well, this grandson may have been hidden from the world for a good reason. I hear he is quite the demon. Not fit for the courts, surely."

The man mumbled a few polite phrases for the old lord's humiliation, but his eyes grew cloudy and he once again nodded off. Dr. Trafalgar left his side, going down the creaky stairs in his patent leather boots that shone in the midday sun. He had nearly made it out the door when the young girl reappeared.

"Oh! I must pay you for your troubles, doctor!"

"There is no need. He has promised to pay me well in the future, and I am not one to rush payments," said the man with a slight smile. He turned and took his leave before a protest could begin, then got back up on his heavyset horse to continue his journey. Once he was well enough away and settled into a trot that shook the cobblestones loose, he allowed a malicious grin to take over his previously solemn countenance. Pay indeed. If a life could be considered ample payment for his troubles. He would revisit the man just once more and then give him a week to tapper off. Hand him over to Death, he would.

He left the huddle of houses behind him and the woods grew up around him on both sides. It would be a half hour until he came upon the next cluster of country homes, and by then he would feel starved of company. Luckily, he had his horse to keep him amused.

"Oh, Bepo, if only they knew what I have done," the doctor said, voice flitting just barely above a whisper. His horse's rounded ears flicked back to catch the sound, and the beast answered with an exasperated snort. "But not one of them realize a thing. They adore me, Bepo. Idolize me."

He heard the deep whisper, broken and choppy due to the elongated teeth in his horse's mouth, just barely concealed by his soft pink lips. "_As they should, Master_."

He chuckled under his breath. Bepo had long idolized him, too, but not for the same reasons as the humans of Sabaody did. "I have to admit though, that man lasted longer than even I expected on the caprice serum. I wonder why that is? He seemed much frailer than my last victim with that shoulder."

"_Perhaps_," said Bepo, "_it is because you did not drain him of his blood as frequently as some of the others._"

"My stores have been overflowing. I shan't need more to sustain myself for a while, or Robin for that matter. I do it for the amusement, it seems."

"_To keep up appearances, too_?"

"Indeed, to keep up appearances, my dearest friend. Which is why we must investigate Lord Eustass' grandchild. Even that reclusive man has caught wind of my supposedly divine healing powers. He wishes me to preform an exorcism, would you believe? I'm surprised I'm even qualified for the job."

For a few seconds his horse quivered all over and paused in his regular gait to slow to a walk. The skin bunched in places it shouldn't have bunched, and the mane began to recede into the skin in a most deplorable fashion. Trafalgar frowned at the sight and sat deeply in the saddle, bringing Bepo to a full halt before anything more calamitous could happen.

"Bepo, contain your laughter lest you change out here in the open where anyone could see."

"_I am sorry_." The creature's hide stopped twitching as if thousands of tiny bugs had landed upon him and straightened his thick neck. "_You needn't worry about me keeping my form outside of the next manor. It is only when I laugh that I can't hold it fully_."

"I know. Now perhaps we should gallop so I am not late meeting Lord Eustass. Do you remember how to imitate a horse's gallop, or have you allowed yourself to get rusty this past week?"

Bepo snorted as if the thought amused him in some way. "_Of course, Master. I have only eaten how many horses now_?"

"A far too many, I'm afraid. The people of Sabaody have begun to suspect that there is a pack of wolves with a preference for horses roaming the woods around here. That, and certain exasperated farmers have been whispering about werewolves. You should really catch the wild deer, not the penned animals."

"_Bah! Werewolves! How silly people are. I've never seen a werewolf. I doubt their very existence_."

Before Bepo went off on a full digression of snorts and growls, Trafalgar dug his heels into the creature's sides, urging him into a gallop. Bepo moved languidly, and it was like this that his true and natural lope became quite clear to the careful observer. Trafalgar continued to dig his heels, and Bepo corrected his gait to something perkier, something more horse-like and graceful.

The estate of the recluse of Sabaody came into view, and the doctor slowed his mount to a steady canter, which was more like his natural gait than anything, and they approached. From a distance he could see stablehands scrambling like rodents around a wooden building near the majestic Eustass manor, which dominated a single hill among many grassy hills. "Do not eat them, Bepo," he cautioned, keeping his voice low.

His steed snorted indignantly. "_I don't revel in the taste of humans as you do_."

This made the doctor grin, and he rode into the courtyard with that youthful smile still upon his face. A hand took the reins from him and Bepo was led off to a stall in the wooden building for his temporary stay. Another servant led the doctor into the sprawling mansion. He admired the stone pillars inside and the rolling colours of numerous stained glass pieces that covered the gothic windows, but the shaky servant was eager to have him follow, as if leisure was out of the question in this household.

He was brought immediately to a sitting room in which one beady-eyed, gray-haired man with a perpetual frown sat stiffly in a chair.

"Dr. Trafalgar, my Lord," the servant announced.

He rose only when the servant had hurried away with his head bowed, and walked over to greet Trafalgar with a stiff-shouldered handshake. The man's hand was sheathed in a dank clamminess, and Trafalgar had to resist the urge to wipe his palm on his ulster.

"Are you really Dr. Trafalgar, the miracle worker from the North side of Sabaody?" The man murmured, looking him up and down and scrutinizing his slight, lanky frame and moony face. "You are younger than I had expected. Much younger. And yet your eyes are so very…"

"Ruined?" offered the doctor with a courteous smile. He knew how unbecoming the dark circles 'round his eyes were. If he didn't pay particular attention to keeping his mouth in a smile, the circles gave him an almost deranged look that did not attract people to his services. Not that he ever experienced a shortage or anything, as the number of able-bodied doctors mysteriously dwindled after he arrived in Sabaody a few years ago. "I don't find sleep easy to come by. It mars my beauty, of course, but then again what does beauty matter when we all grow old so quickly?"

His dry humour fell completely flat on Lord Eustass, who bid him to sit while his grandchild was summoned to the room. "Now, in my letter I have told you that he is something of a…" the old man trailed off, his hand waving in the air as he searched for a proper description.

"Demon," finished Trafalgar, the words of the letter running through his mind, as they'd been all day. "Or, rather, a man possessed by a demonic force. And you believe it may have something to do with the loss of both parents at a young age, considering he was unusually attached to the mother."

"More so than other children. Really, most you give over to the nanny, and that is it, but his foolish mother insisted she raise him herself. Only until he was a few years old, but the damage, I think, has been done. Now it seems she's left the lad with deep scars that accursed demons have settled in."

"You believe in demons then, my Lord?" Trafalgar asked, careful to keep all amusement off of his face. If Bepo were standing in the room, he fancied his hooves would have turned to claws as he laughed his elongated snout right off of his face.

"I do not know how else to explain his strange behaviour," the old man said with a sigh. "He has a certain…bloodlust that is simply _abnormal_."

The lord hadn't mentioned that in his letter, and Trafalgar felt intrigue creep up his spine again. He could hardly wait to see his new patient. He did not have to twiddle his thumbs for long, as a servant rushed into the room, bowed, and stated that Eustass William Kidd had been brought from his private chambers.

"First, Dr. Trafalgar, you must swear by God that you won't tell of any happenings that take place in this manor. Silence on the matter of my grandson, if you please."

Trafalgar couldn't help but feel that swearing on God was incredibly sinful for a man of his nature and profession, but did it anyway. Not because he immensely enjoyed tempting Fate to wring his neck, or that he had no business swearing on God, but because he genuinely wished to see this demonic grandchild.

"Send him in," the elder Eustass ordered gravely.

When the young man entered, placid face detracting from eyes brimming with anger and hatred, Trafalgar could not repress a violent shudder of excitement. This would be a case well-worth riding to the South side of Sabaody for.

-oOo-

The day the letter came, addressed to him, Marco's anxiety had increased tenfold. He had been expecting the letter, of course, but when it finally came he could not help but become terrified of his fate.

The temporary tenant that had moved into the manor after his late master died had read it aloud to him as if he were a child incapable of comprehending the complicated script. The truth was that, even as a servant, Marco knew how to read and could even write some. The only one that had known that was his late master, Gol D. Roger, and the man's deceased wife who had been his teacher.

The only other living member left of the Gol family had written the manor and its occupants – a few straggling servants and a stable of rudiment animals – off, and had put the property up for temporary lease. But the letter had hinted at a return now that the temporary lease of the land had expired after three years and the tenant wished to move on. While the Eastern side of Sabaody was relaxing, it had not any of the trendy shops or opera theatres that the West side did, and the tenant grew bored with the reclusive home shouldered by rolling fields and arcane woods.

So now helping his temporary master, who had picked on him and given him the most ridiculous of duties for the past three years, he became aware of the fact that he would never see the pompous man again. And Marco had no idea if he, too, was to leave the manor.

It was a dreadful thing to think about, for he really had nowhere to go but Death's door.

In all actuality it was a marvel that he was still alive. He had come from the far off lands overseas, from a plantation where he worked laboriously day in and day out as a slave under the hot sun. Then the man known as Whitebeard had set them all free…

But it had not gone as planned, and it was a wonder that he did not hang in the gallows with the other slaves that had become pirates. Gol D. Roger had taken a liking to him and bought him from the executioner, much to the dismay of the gathering that surrounded the gallows and cheered for a good hanging.

Rumours abounded that day, all stemming from the fact that Gol D. Roger's wealth had been earned in a rather unscrupulous manner. Some pointed fingers at the king buying him off because of learned intelligence that the king did not want getting out, others simply shrugged it off as piracy in the king's name. A privateer. But Marco thought knew the truth better than most.

He wondered if the young man who was riding towards the manor at this very moment knew a different truth or something close to what he'd been told. When it came to Lord Gol, there had never been one single all-encompassing story about the enigmatic man.

He watched some of the servants leave with their temporary tenant. They would not be coming back. Many of them had secured jobs elsewhere. Only Marco and a wrinkly half crazy housemaid remained, unable to find work. They would just have to pray not to be dismissed upon greeting the man.

As he noted the time and began to start for the door, he became aware of footsteps on the marble flooring. Not old Tsuru. She kept to herself in the kitchen or busied herself with the laundry. And she hardly made such a noise crossing the floor.

With a start, Marco walked briskly to the source of the sound. It was as he feared. He had missed his new master's arrival. The young man was built just like his beloved old master of many years ago, and Marco felt a pang of dread at having to see the similarities that alluded to a time when he had a much easier, happier life. This man had the same stockiness, wide shoulders, and a relatively trim waist, as well as both the dark eyes and hair of his late master. But unlike him, this man had boyish freckles that dappled his cheeks and drew attention to his eyes.

Marco forced himself to approach from behind a statue. The man caught sight of him and appeared to brighten, even smile a little. He bowed, keeping his face impassive. "My Lord, you are early," he said with a gulp. He kept his head down as he asked, "May I take your overcoat?"

"Certainly," the man replied, already shrugging out of the long, black ulster emblazoned with a brilliant red trim about the collar. "And what, may I ask, is your name, sir?"

He hadn't been expecting such polite consideration. "My given name is Marco, my Lord."

"Well, Marco, I am Portgas D. Ace," the man said. Before Marco could puzzle over the surname being remarkably different from his late master's, the man reached out to grasp his limp hand that hung at his waist. Grabbing him in a handshake that was firm, yet gentle enough not to discomfort him any. He shook once, then withdrew almost shyly.

Marco visibly paled, his pallor intensified by the friendly smile this person graced him with. Gentlemen did not touch a servant's hand so readily, and certainly didn't offer them handshakes in greeting or even fleeting smiles. Something was quite wrong. Perhaps the man thought him to be the tenant of his manor and not merely a servant within it and did not know the tenant had already departed. Hurriedly, he tried to allude to his lowly position without upsetting the young man.

"The last stableman left this morning to seek work on the other side of Sabaody. But I am more than adequate – shall I stable your horse?"

"No need; I've already settled him in the stable. I see it has been well maintained."

Marco's heart sank. A gentleman was not supposed to be anywhere near the grime of a stable, much less taking care of the horses with his unblemished, noble hands. That was a labourer's job, _his_ job.

"C-can I get you some tea, perhaps?" Marco shakily offered. "The drawing room affords a nice sitting area–"

"I'd like to see the rest of the estate before I sit down, if you don't mind," the man interrupted, glancing about with eyes that seemed to smother everything they touched.

"Of course," Marco said, bowing his head respectfully. He could not look into such eyes without feeling grossly inferior. "Shall I give you a tour?"

"No, no," Lord Portgas said. "I should like to show myself around. There is a certain charm in the novelty of exploration. This house isn't so large that I'll get lost and never found within it. You, my friend, should take a break. You're looking as if you've contracted ague or the like."

It was true, Marco was trembling as if caught underdressed in the midst of a wicked blizzard, and doubly pale than he had been just seconds before. For all the right reasons, of course. This lord was acting out of his class, poking around at things along the mantle of a nearby fireplace and getting his graceful fingers dirty with the dust that had accumulated. The few servants left in the house had been busy appeasing the high demands of the previous tenant, and not even Marco himself had managed to keep the entire estate spotless.

He was embarrassed, but he didn't dare try to salvage the situation by procuring ideas to excuse his neglect of the house. He had no wish to anger this man with boyish impudence.

So once the lord strode out of his sight he quietly retired to his bedchamber, preparing to pack his meagre belongings into a cloth bag or his ratty old suitcase. It was all he could do now.

Only, the man showed up in his room. Well, to be precise, he barged in, only half aware of where he was. When he saw Marco standing in there with a suitcase and a ragged doublet that had seen better centuries in one hand, colour rose to his cheeks.

"Ah, my apologies, I didn't know this was your–"

"M-my Lord," Marco began with a sputter, then winced as he realized he'd just interrupted this gentleman.

"My apologies, my friend, I do not wish to probe where I am not welcome, but I must ask: what is it that you're doing? Are you packing away your belongings?"

Marco blinked owlishly at him, then slowly set the bunched fabric in his hands to the side rather than inside the suitcase. "Yes, my Lord," he answered truthfully.

"For what purpose?" the young man inquired.

Marco was hesitant about what he ought to say. It was clear as an empty wineglass that Lord Portgas knew he was not the tenant. That left only one position to be filled, and so he came to the conclusion that this man knew precisely his rank and humble value to the household.

"I assumed you would bring your own servants to attend you," Marco said, speaking plainly as he stared at a fixed point on the scuffed floor. Grounding himself in the presence of a man who commanded respect just by the leisurely way his dark eyes swept across the room, already owning every speck of dust.

"And dismiss you? Why, that would have been downright rude of me, coming into this estate only to usurp you! I do hope you'll stay. I'd rather like to have a man who knows his way around both Sabaody and this manor. All the same, if you wish to leave, by all means you may, and don't think I will make it excruciatingly hard for you. I am not that sort of man."

Marco opened and closed his mouth several times, then licked his parched lips, unable to articulate his elation at being granted a place in the estate.

"I would very much like to stay, my Lord. If it is not burdensome to you…"

The man laughed. Instantly Marco's shoulders tightened. That laugh stopped his blood from flowing, leaving him a pale, pallid thing. He hadn't heard its like in many years. The last time he had heard such a booming, free-spirited laugh had been when his late master, this man's father, had been in the prime of his health. Many years ago, it had been.

Yet, not so very long, as he had just begun to age himself, having began work with the man as only a young boy, not even of age to do much more than help in the stable.

"I am glad," the young man said with another genuine smile Marco lifted his eyes to catch sight of. "I see that it is just you and the maid, Tsura. And she has expressed a want to leave, and has just as of this hour found a placement doing laundry of all things for the king's men, so it shall be only you and I. It may take a while to find a replacement chef…unless you know of anyone suitable for the job?"

Before he could think things over, Marco said, "I've the experience to fill the post, if you're willing to occasionally spare me to the kitchen to make the meal."

This elicited another guffaw from the man. "That solves all my problems now, doesn't it? Really, I was not expecting you to be so…capable at fulfilling the roles of lesser servants." Marco lifted his head, fresh rouge coating his cheeks. "You appear as more of a valet than a simple servant. I should hope you'll assume the duties of a valet to me, and I'll work at finding some help for you, of course."

"My Lord, you are too kind," Marco said, casting his eyes back down before he could get lost in the dark pupils of his new master. Those shadowy pools would surely be his downfall. He found they were easy to rest upon, to admire. Like the gleaming hide of a Friesian stallion, they were something to be marvelled at.

"I shall retire now. I've already supped at the manor of an old acquaintance. Can I trust you to wake me at nine?"

"O-of course," Marco stammered, fully aware he was staring rudely. He cast his eyes away once more and found his tongue. "I shall bring in any letters and a hearty breakfast, if it should please you."

The man laughed again, and the sound filled the small chamber, bouncing around and settling heavily in Marco's chest. "I shall hold you to that declaration, Mr. Marco."

He left the room, closing the door softly as he went, betraying his upbringing as a gentleman and lord. Marco stood for a moment and studied the wood grain, then turned and began to unpack his belongings, putting them back into the places they'd been in for years.

Tomorrow he would have to prove himself, yet he couldn't help but wonder at the ease with which the man took to him. It almost seemed too friendly to be real.

He remembered how his late master was always understanding, and certainly friendly in his own rough way. He had the decency to smile at everyone as well, Marco recalled. The good-natured traits must have been passed down by blood.

He fell asleep that night wondering at the absurdity of his luck.

* * *

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	2. Chapter II

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_**Caprice**_

Chapter II

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Lord Eustass' grandchild dropped into a wicker chair dressed in red silks, eyes trained on Dr. Trafalgar's bemused face. Abruptly, his grandsire rose and left the room, and Trafalgar noted how he refused to so much as glance in the direction of his own flesh and blood.

"You are the doctor, then? I'm surprised that as a physician you don't wear the full-bottomed wig," said the man. Now that Trafalgar was looking him over from his seat on the divan, he could see the grandson was delightfully young, perhaps just having reached his early twenties. Curiously enough, the hair that sprouted from his head, brushed back from his face in a haphazard fashion, was of a deep reddish brown colour. No, the closer he scrutinized it, the more it appeared as if dark locks were mixed with light reddish ones, casting a strange trance over the eyes and blending the colour into a fiery mix of carmine.

It reminded him, oddly enough, of a field of daisies drenched in the blood of soldiers after a war.

Why he thought of such morbid things, he did not quite know. It was his true nature pestering him, he supposed. That, and his experiences were coming back to haunt him. Regardless he took a liking to that hair. It appealed to his more primitive side.

Dr. Trafalgar stood and approached the other, intent on getting a closer look at this phenomenon. "I find the wigs too drab and the title of physician too limiting. I am, primarily, a surgeon; secondarily a physician; and only tertiary an exorcist, that title being given to me just today I'll have you know."

The man eked out a brutal laugh that battered the ears, then folded his hands in his lap and bowed his head, seemingly making peace if it weren't for the wicked grin that graced his ruby lips. "I see. The old man believes he can get someone to free me of my sinful ways. He has brought everything from a priest to exorcists here, and none have managed to make a dent on my composition. And you shan't either, _doctor_."

Trafalgar skimmed the top of his mouth with his tongue to produce a soft cluck and shook his head, moving past the wicker chair in which his patient sat and coming about to stand behind it. "Tell me, sir, what is it that you want?"

Even from behind, Trafalgar could see the furrows that erupted on Lord Eustass' brow. "What I want? What I want is of no concern to you, Doctor."

"What you want," Trafalgar rejoined, "is to keep your ways and seize this estate. I can tell from the way you carried yourself into the room and glared defiantly at your maker that you're a treasonous brute of a fellow. Have I not determined your character?"

"You can tell such things just by looking at me?" the young Lord asked, a hint of surprise in his tone. Any and all surprise was glossed over with a harsh snort. "My, you are a perceptive bastard, aren't you?"

"I have mastery over mind and matter, having spent many years refining my study of the human body and many more in the courts of the North. My father was a duke who met an unfortunate end by murder," Trafalgar divulged, reaching his sinewy fingers up to grab at tense shoulders. Lord Eustass startled as those feather light touches made contact, but did not yet turn his head. He remained still, allowing the doctor to push against his flesh and move up his neck, eventually pressing into the warm area beneath his jaw. Trafalgar could feel how Lord Eustass clenched his teeth together. "Now, I should like to examine you closer…if you will remove your upper clothing and lie yourself down on the divan…"

Much to Trafalgar's surprise the young lord did as he was instructed, as the whole farcical affair amused him to no end. He shuddered out of the confines of his suit and laid it over the silken drapery on the chair. Trafalgar watched the muscles of his back flex as he walked, turned, and laid his body down on the long, low sofa with no back or arms.

Knots of discord disfigured his back, but they were not noticeable to the naked eyes of a human. Trafalgar, however, saw with more clarity than most. "You are quite the specimen," he said, eyes climbing the peaks and descending the dips of the man's musculature. "Have you served at sea?"

"For a time," the man replied, staring straight up at the beams that held up the ceiling. "But the Navy did not want to keep me, for even I was too devilish for their ideologies."

At this Trafalgar smiled jovially. "Ah, well, we have much in common for I, too, was dismissed by that blasphemous Navy. I was aboard a wondrous ship-of-the-line as the surgeon, on a campaign from Sabaody to the farthest reaches of the sea, to what is known as the Redline. Beyond that lies the New World as you must know. But my good-natured experiments were too drastic for the insipid captain in charge of maintaining the crew. And thus they set my feet down on dry land. Last I heard the ship was blown to bits by chainshot hitting the magazine and setting it alight, courtesy of a pirate fleet under the infamous Blackbeard. It sunk off the coast of Elbaf. Tragic, really."

"A shame," Lord Eustass agreed with a careless wave of his hand. "It takes so much time and effort to produce a ship of such high calibre."

He made no mention of the souls lost to a watery grave and continued to stare at nothing of remark as Trafalgar made his way over and set his medical bag down next to the edge of the divan. "Now tell me, my Lord, if you believe in these demons your grandfather has ranted on about in the letter he sent me."

A grumble of a laugh escaped those rouge lips, and the intriguingly pale, nearly invisible eyebrows of the man twitched a few times as if annoyed by the thoughts parading through his mind. Then a deep frown became engraved into his flesh. "I believe in only what I can see with my eyes. Show me a demon and I will believe. He has yet to prove a thing to me. If my bloodlust is abnormal, then that is the fault of my nature, not some ethereal force. I have twice killed men in fits of rage, several in each instance, but I cannot remember the details. You tell me why, doctor."

"Sudden unexplainable madness? That is an absolutely _fascinating_ case, Lord Eustass," Trafalgar said with a jovial smile. The red-haired man seemed slightly miffed that the doctor wasn't in the least perturbed by his confession of multiple counts of murder. "Perhaps these events have been greatly repressed by the inner crevices of your mind. This could be but one explanation, however. Another, and one you may not take so kindly to, is that you aren't quite as you seem on the surface."

"What are you insinuating?" growled the lord.

Laughter met his inquisition, and soon Lord Eustass felt hands upon his body. They were cold hands, but not unpleasantly so. Rather the smooth hands of the doctor brushing over his skin, up and down his chest, were like a touch of morning dew on grass. Wet in the morning, but gone by noon. They were the unblemished fingers of a higher class, leaving a chill in their wake.

"Tell me what it is that you really think, doctor," commanded Eustass. "You must. I entreat you to."

"Very well. Tell me of your parentage, my Lord. I shall make my assessment after I draw from you your bloodline."

"Why would you wish to know something like that?"

"Why not?" Trafalgar shot back. "Why ever not? Are you questioning the practices of a man of medicine?"

Eustass rose on his elbows, wicked eyes glaring at the other man as he withdrew, walked to the other side of the room, and dropped into the wicker chair. "Fine. I have nothing to conceal, and I'm surprised that the old man did not tell you all that he knows. My father was a general under the king. An admittedly dull-witted military man. He always badgered me to follow in his footsteps, but I had no interest in _organized_ fighting. It is too tedious. There is nothing about it I enjoy."

"And your mother?" Trafalgar asked.

"I don't remember her well. But the old man has told me I take after her in looks only."

Trafalgar ran the tips of his fingers through his short hair and rested his tired eyes for a moment. He wondered whether he should reveal what he had found in the subtle curvature of the man's body, or whether he should continue to play completely and utterly ignorant.

His thoughts were answered when he opened his eyes and found the man bowed over the divan, rummaging about carelessly in his medical bag. The doctor frowned and leapt to his feet, intent on snatching his belongings away. Before he could get very far across the room, the man pulled from the bag a bottle in which a milky liquid dolefully swished about. The caprice serum.

"Some strange healing tonic of yours, doctor?" the man asked, holding it up to the light. He could see glittering bubbles forming within the liquid. No, they were much darker in shade, and seemed to him to be precipitate rather than trapped air. "It looks like a ghastly acid of sorts."

Trafalgar watched as the man continued to study it. At length, he said, "It is something of an acid, but more natural than you would think. None of that nitric acid the scientists have been experimenting with in the exhumation of bodies. It's a thing that gives life to others at a grave cost." He found Lord Eustass was barely paying his warnings any mind, and that in turn vexed the doctor. He raised his voice. "Would you like to try its effects out? Just a drop would do."

Lord Eustass startled at the unexpected offer, his eyes widening and his brow lifting. Then he looked back to the glimmering liquid, his eyes alight with something else. A strange, brutal longing came about the lord, and he popped the lid off.

"Just a drop?"

"Just a drop," Dr. Trafalgar repeated. His smile grew as he saw the lord sniff the uncorked bottle, inhaling the scentless, yet tempting odour that the doctor knew was irresistible. Like pheromones, undetectable by humans but somewhat sensed by demons. "Place it on your finger, touch it to your lips, or anywhere else you wish to slather it. I have a hunch it will not affect you in the least. You needn't fear, my Lord…"

The liquid was sluggish when exposed to air, and Eustass tilted it at a severe degree to force it out. When it did land upon his fingers, it was much more than the pinprick that Trafalgar was accustomed to administering.

As the lord brought the liquid to his lips, he sniffed it again. His lips curled and heavy lines of concentration marred his forehead.

It was to be now that the truth of the matter would be revealed. Should the lord slouch back with glazed eyes, mind trapped in a warped, weightless wasteland that would hold him captive for weeks, Trafalgar would have discovered nothing remarkable. Should the great gob of caprice serum leave him unchanged, the answer would be relatively simple. Then, of course, there were the unexpected consequences, all of which would excite and delight him. He sat back down in the wicker chair with the poise of a nobleman's cat to observe his newest experiment doing all the work for him and mentally drew up his hypotheses.

Lord Eustass closed his mouth and smeared the whitish, pasty substance across his bottom lip. It sunk in quickly, and the effect was not so immediate but yet happened at a rapid pace. His breathing intensified and his eyes dilated, then swept across the room languidly to settle on the doctor, who watched with intensity. The serum caused his mind to warp, and he found himself light-headed. Next he felt a horrible weakening of his limbs and, finally, he began to recede back onto the divan, glad that he was already halfway down.

When his back was flush with the upholstery, he became aware of a tightening of tendons in certain muscles, and in particular a pleasuring feeling that started in the pit of his stomach and spread downward like fire catching dried kindling. The doctor's dark eyes appeared in his sight, but his teary vision blurred the tan face and made it horribly disfigured. He opened his mouth to speak, but no intelligible words would come forth.

"A most curious reaction, Lord Eustass," the doctor commented, lips moving too quickly. He tried to watch those lips move, but the skin was too close in tint to that of the rest of his face and the colours muddled together. At last, the lord closed his eyes and a deep sigh shook his body. The not so alien heat he felt in his slacks intensified, and with a hazy start he realized the doctor wasn't done physically examining him.

He hadn't felt the doctor pull his charcoal trousers down his thighs, but with a slight raise of his head he could see the doctor examining him with a wry smile dusted onto his face. He could also see how wholly aroused he was, but he could not figure out why that would be. Numbly he became aware of foreign fingers touching his skin, and he shivered at the increase in sensitivity of his body. But the doctor was quick to finish his assessment, and quicker still to replace his trousers upon his hips.

"A most curious reaction," the doctor whispered again. His dark eyes and hair once more appeared in Eustass' view, and he groaned as he felt a hand press into his most responsive appendage through the fabric of his trousers. "Unfortunately, I must leave now. I have somewhere I must be. I shall drape the silken fabric on that chair over there over your body to ward off the cold, and I will return in a few days to check up on your health. You have nothing to fear; the substance does not affect you in _completely_ adverse ways, rather it plays with the pleasure seeking part of your brain. Right now, since this is first time you've experienced the drug, your body is in shock and you are unable to speak. I hypothesize that you will return to normal in a matter of hours, so do not fret. At least not excessively."

The doctor gathered up his medical bag, pried the bottle from Lord Eustass' fingers, which had clamped around the glass with an iron grip, and replaced the lid. He slipped it inside the bag, covered the man with the silken sheet that pressed down on his body, and then smoothed the material of his coat so everything lay perfectly flat as he liked it.

"It was an absolute _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance, Lord Eustass."

Dr. Trafalgar heard a deep, rollicking groan rise up out of the throat of his newest patient when he left the room.

-oOo-

The older man woke him at precisely 9 o'clock with a gentle, yet firm touch to his shoulder. Lord Portgas opened his eyes to see Marco, one hand balancing a tray from which a steady plume of steam rose up. His morning tea.

"I admire your punctuality," the lord said, voice groggy with sleep. He drew back the blankets and sat up, stretching wildly. Marco diverted his eyes, surprised to see his master had forsaken the nightgown worn by most in favour of sleeping bare. His covers bunched around his waist, and Marco had to force ingrained curiosity from his mind as he wondered what the rest of his master looked like.

"I shall bring up the rest of your breakfast, if you don't need me presently. Do you bathe in the morning? I have not drawn a bath as of yet. We heat the water in a large cauldron over a fire that can be lit upstairs. It's actually quite efficient."

"No, no; I shall come downstairs. Please don't trouble yourself too much, Marco. And I'll forgo the bath today. I'd rather eat this morning and do little else. Please bring my tea downstairs."

Marco did not argue and retreated to the kitchen with his shoulders tense at the tone of the orders he had been given. Here he gathered up the poultry he had cooked, and the bacon and eggs. The tea was just beginning to cool slightly, but it was still steaming, and he piled that on his serving platter as well. Then he brought the meal to the parlour.

The parlour was a smallish room compared to others in the manor, but one that Marco had maintained to the best of his ability as it was his favourite spot in all of Sabaody. In one corner a mahogany piano sat idle, ivory keys gleaming, and in another the fireplace glowed, with multiple, intricately carved potteries on the mantelshelf. They had come from foreign lands in the New World. The fire he had started early this morning warmed the room, yet the multiple paintings of ships sailing rough seas lent a subliminal coolness to the air. There were days he fancied he could feel a breeze wafting through the room, though the windows were usually shut at the insistence of his former tenet.

His old master, Lord Gol, had been fond of oil paintings depicting ships, but the last person to live in the house had wanted them brought down, deeming them drab and dated. Thus, Marco had moved them to a safe abode and only this morning restored them to their rightful places upon the walls. He dearly hoped his new master would not want them removed again. He had a certain fondness for the ships.

They reminded him of the time in his life where he experienced a momentous shift in perception.

He placed the food and tea down on the mahogany table topped with a frilly white cloth and backed away, admiring the paintings that had been absent from the parlour for far too long. He was still deep in thought when Lord Portgas strode in, thankfully garbed in a black nightgown.

"Marco, my friend, you will be joining me, no?"

Marco startled at the proposal, then shook his head. It would not be wise to overstep any bounds of class so early on in this relationship. It would only breed bad habits that could be punishable. "My Lord, I don't think that would be at all appropriate. If you need me, you need only ring that bell there. I will retrieve your letters shortly."

Before the young lord could object, he left the room and hurried down the hall. He really should have grabbed the letters earlier, but he was glad he held off on it because he didn't know what other excuse he could have used to squirm his way out of breakfast with his master.

The mailman had left several letters in the communal box when he got there, and he skimmed over them first. Normally, a servant wouldn't bother, but Marco was a literate man and he could afford to indulge himself in this fact every once and a while without anyone knowing. He saw Lord Portgas had a letter from the last man to have lived in the manor, an invite to a banquet thrown by Duchess Jewelry, who was always throwing parties of one sort or another, and a letter from a man by the name of Dr. Trafalgar Edward Law.

He recognized the name immediately, as well as the odd wax seal on the back, which depicted some sort of nondescript face imposed on a medical symbol, one that seemed almost chilling. Regardless of this strange seal, Dr. Trafalgar was the man in everyone's good graces, and he could be counted on to take good care of the gentry who needed him. He was the doctor the wealthy called to their doorsteps, but who also made a point of visiting the poor. Marco had never seen him this almost phantom figure, this man that seemed to be everywhere at once, but the letter he held in his hand hinted that maybe he'd finally catch a glimpse of the doctor everyone was so keen to discuss and praise.

He brought the letters back inside and took his time getting to the parlour. The large platter of food he'd set out for Lord Portgas, sure that the man would be unable to finish even half of the food, had been reduced to crumbs so meagre that sparrows would not bother to give them a peck. His master caught him staring unabashed as he handed him the letters.

"I tend to eat voraciously," the younger man admitted, slightly sheepish. "Please do not think I have starved myself, for that could not be further from the truth."

"I-I see, my Lord. Well. I shall just have to prepare more next time. Or are you still hungry? I can–"

"No, no, I'm quite fine. This is a good amount for a breakfast. I don't want to overeat and end up looking like one of those dukes in the courts of the North. But next time I must ask that you sit down and join me. It gets lonely when one dines alone. I cannot stand it." Marco opened his mouth, to offer some servile excuse, but the lord continued and did not allow him time to opt out of this arrangement he was so keen on. "Now, you have to tell me about these paintings. There are so many of them in this room…"

Marco tensed, afraid that he would have to bring them down and store them carefully in the basement. Or worse. Take them down and sell them off, as they belonged to the Gol line, to Lord Portgas himself. His heart flipped at the very thought of selling even one of the masterpieces. "Well, they are a part of a large collection by a seafaring painter, Silvers Rayleigh. He is still living–"

"They are quite beautiful. I adore seascapes, and I was, at a time not so long ago, the captain of a crew in the Navy at the insistence of my grandfather, a vice-admiral. It was not the life for me, though. There were too many rules to adhere to, and the cruelties of the Navy are too numerous to come out with a clean conscience. It should almost certainly be better to be a pirate." Lord Portgas closed his eyes, then shook his head as if to clear it of an unpleasant string of thoughts. "These paintings, how long have they been here?"

"They've been in the manor for over twenty years. They were your father's before he passed."

Lord Portgas' nose wrinkled as if a pungent odour had passed into his nostrils. "Ah, I shall have to try hard not to dislike them for that fact."

"That they were your father's?" asked Marco in disbelief.

"Aye. The demon. I hope you will refrain from mentioning his name in my presence. I can't bear to even hear it. You'll have realized I have not taken his name, and it is not without reason that I've done so. I owe everything to my admirable and brave mother, not the demon that spawned me."

Marco bit his lip to keep from speaking out of his rank and stooped near the fireplace to add a log to the dwindling fire. While he was down there with his back to his lord, he discretely crossed himself. Demons were not something to speak about so sweepingly. Not only that, but Lord Gol had been a man he deeply admired, and to hear him spoken of in such a callous light brought colour to his cheeks and lit a flame in him that he knew he ought to extinguish before he acted out in a most unbecoming manner for a servant.

This man, he decided, was quite peculiar. Perhaps he was mad and had fallen prey to the horrid lead poisoning that had been troubling some of the residents of Sabaody. Then again, he didn't look the type to apply a whitening powder.

Meanwhile, Lord Portgas had wandered over to the window with his letters and was hastily reading through them. After the second letter he asked, "Do you know of Duchess Jewelry? What sort of a woman is she?"

"Oh, she is an amiable woman, from what I've heard."

"Is that the truth or the lie the gentry have made up to keep in her Duchess' good graces? I request the truth, Marco. I will not think ill of you."

Marco smiled a little; his new master was observant to the norms of the time and had obviously detected a slight hesitation in his words. "Well, my Lord, it is half the truth. She is amiable, but only when she has a heaping platter of pork or some Italian dish in front of her. At other times, she is a severe woman. However, her parties are always the talk of Sabaody."

He managed to elicit another breezy laugh from the lord, which hit him like a pleasantly warm wind. All feelings of unease left him, and he soon forgot about how ill this son spoke of his father. "Then I shall have to go to at least one of her banquets. Marco, I will read that letter from the tenant later, so please leave it be on the table here. I think I would like to go for a ride around the property…"

"I shall saddle a horse for you then. Did you turn the one you brought out into the paddock with the palomino?"

"I did. But Marco, my horse is a wilful thing. He won't come easily to be saddled, and he cannot be bribed by food. He is much too intelligent for that. Besides, I would much rather saddle him myself. There is some satisfaction to catching that brute." Marco nodded, even though it pained him to see a lord unnecessarily dirty his hands. Yet he had assumed this would happen. This man was not at all like any he'd ever had the pleasure or rancour to serve.

"Oh, but Marco, could I ask a favour of you? Could you come along with me through Sabaody? I haven't been here since I was a young child, and I wish to see some of the sights without getting terribly lost."

"Certainly, my Lord. I shall just clean up here…"

Lord Portgas smiled at him, the slightest hint of awe creasing the corners of his eyes as he watched Marco gather up all the plates and cutlery into an artful heap upon his arm. Rarely the abilities of another impressed him, but when it came to handling multiple things at once he was quite readily schooled and therefore easily captivated. "I suppose I shall brush and saddle the palomino for you then?"

"That mare is the only beast here at the moment, besides your own horse."

The lord nodded and left Marco to his task, exiting out the main entrance. He had examined the stables yesterday, but it had been late and dusk had already fallen, so he hadn't paid particular attention to the building. Now he could see the cracks that snaked their way up the walls of the stable. He would have to see if there was a mason in town willing to work on the foundation. He imagined Marco would know where to go to find someone to do the work. The estate needed repairs and he intended on being swift in getting the work accomplished.

He was glad Marco had chosen to stay. It made everything much easier, and he was good company. Or he would be, once he warmed up to the lord. He hoped this ride would ease the man's nerves.

Catching the palomino's frayed halter was easy. He had to only walk up to the mare and she surrendered fully to him. Took the bit of the bridal and even lay her ears back until he had passed the leather over them, then flipped them up again, blinking at him curiously. A friendly, good-tempered creature. Catching his own steed was more eventful, for the horse kept his distance, no matter how he cooed and coaxed him to come closer. A wilful, ill-tempered creature.

At last he resorted to an old trick. He turned away from the animal and stooped low, then pretended to be fixated on something that lay on the ground. He brushed his hand over the grass, pawing at it. Soon he heard light steps as the horse's inquisitiveness won out over his more lacklustre qualities. The lord seized him, forcibly got the bridal over his nose, and tied him off to the fence while he got the saddles.

By the time he brought them out and laid one on the fence, Marco was making his way down the path, hurrying along as he saw his lord was not quite done. Wordlessly he took the saddle on the fence and cinched it around the rather pudgy belly of the palomino, while the black charger that he could see dancing in place received his own tack.

Lord Portgas began to chat aimlessly about the agreeable weather while Marco simply nodded and prepared to mount. But, as he put his hand up near the mare's withers, the black horse next to them let out a shrill whinny and threw up his massive head, obviously displeased.

"I had no idea he would come by today…" Lord Portgas muttered as he tried to calm his horse. The whites of his black's eyes showed, and the horse directed his gaze towards an approaching figure in the distance.

A man on a snowy horse was plodding down the path towards the estate. He rode a massive animal, dwarfing both of the other horses. Marco could only conclude that it must have been a plough horse of sorts, but its legs were thin enough that he wondered if it had ever seen a day's work. They were more the legs of an athlete.

"Dr. Trafalgar sent me a letter this morning, telling me he wanted to meet up sometime for a quick chat, but I didn't think he meant today," mused Lord Portgas, loud enough so that his servant may hear this explanation. His horse was absolutely livid by now, tossing his head about and neighing, quite in hysterics. Marco's palomino was prancing in place, but she did not have the springiness of youth to attempt a dash by loosing herself from Marco's hands. Not like how the black seemed to be seconds from fleeing.

The object of their uneasy was, quit plainly, the visitors. The mountainous beast blinked at them from afar, head bowed and slightly tilted to the side in an obtuse manner, reminding Marco of a wolf caught too close to the city gates. Its rider wore a black ulster, sharp collar and hems trimmed with the spotted fur of some foreign creature. Hanging from his right side was a rather striking walking stick. It was long like a staff and decorated elegantly with a dash of fur near the top, but its most striking feature was the slight curve to it that suggested it served a purpose different from that of the gentry conforming to the high fashions of the time.

"Marco, I must meet with this man. Can you take the horses and walk them about? I shan't be long."

"Of course, Lord Portgas," Marco murmured, grabbing a hold of the black and turning his head roughly around. Taking away his sense of vision seemed to calm him slightly. He hoped a few turns in the paddock might improve his jumpiness.

"Give me ten minutes, and I will meet up with you here again," his lord told him before vaulting over the fence with practiced ease. Marco couldn't hold in a gasp of surprise. Not many of the nobles conducted themselves so casually. But Marco did as he was told while the young man rushed off to meet with the doctor, whose coal hair shimmered in the morning sun. He guessed they had to discuss matters of utmost secrecy. Health matters, in all likelihood.

He couldn't help but wonder what prompted a visit from Dr. Trafalgar and his white ghost of a steed. He prayed it wasn't sickness that brought him to Lord Portgas. Especially an incurable disease, the likes of which killed the man's father. He feared he wouldn't be able to bear the heartbreak of losing another master to a sickness he couldn't do anything for.

He focused on diverting the attention of the horses, the herd animals that had by this time taken up the full mentality of prey in the face of a predator, hind quarters twitching and awaiting the opportune moment for flight.

* * *

**A.N.:** Thank you everyone who left a review for the first chapter! They were lovely and I enjoyed reading each and every one of them.

This will be a long fic, one that should be updated either every Thursday or Friday depending on what I've got going on for those two days. It should also be noted that this fic will have very rated 'M' scenes later on, but I don't think it's anything y'all can't handle if you've read my other fics.


	3. Chapter III

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter III

* * *

Many nights later Dr. Trafalgar received his second summons to the ostentatious estate of the senior Lord Eustass. He was sitting in the parlour of his much more modest estate deep in the woods of Boin, a cluster of evergreen trees that had grown in abundance just outside of the northernmost reaches of Sabaody when he got the news. His loyal boggart had brought in the mail, a cheeky, not so malevolent fiend by the name of Shachi.

Dr. Trafalgar had made the mistake of naming the creature, and the boggart hadn't left his side since. No matter where he moved his home to it would always reappear within a day or so. Boggarts were irritating creatures like that, but not entirely unwelcome once they were given tasks to complete and offerings of food to keep their primitive instincts at bay.

"Shachi, take this letter to Lord Eustass' estate," Dr. Trafalgar instructed, holding out a letter he'd hastily written up to tell the lord he'd be arriving tomorrow at noon.

A dark form plodded out from behind the fireplace grating, where it had been warming itself by the embers of a dying fire. It was a creature much like Bepo in the sense that it took the form its master commanded it to. And Dr. Trafalgar had always used Shachi to deliver his tonics, letters, and payments to whomever he owed, often those that supplied him with the ingredients to make his medicines. All the while Shachi took the form of a rather tanned adolescent with perpetually clammy skin, spiked hair that resembled porcupine quills, and teeth that seemed to be straight out of the mouth of some aquatic beast from deep within the ocean. When he smiled, which was always in the company of his housemates and the doctor, his gleaming shark teeth gave him away as something that stalked the night.

Other than the occasional slip-up, the township of Sabaody accepted that Dr. Trafalgar had a mute pheasant boy working for him, one that wore a brimmed hat that concealed his face and kept the spikey hair in check.

"South side of Sabaody, Lord Eustass," Shachi rasped, nodding at the directions to show his comprehension. Dr. Trafalgar found the boggart's hat and fit it securely over his little head, mindful to arrange his hair so it fell above the little hollows he had in place of ears. He then snatched up a brown cravat and tied it round the creature's collar, concealing the three slits on each side of his neck that told of his ability to breathe underwater.

If this boggart hadn't taken such a liking to him one day at market, Dr. Trafalgar figured it would have made a life for itself haunting the docks, or perhaps as a cabin boy on a ship. Apart from his diminutive size, the thing was undeniably whale-like in appearance.

"That's right," cooed the doctor. He had the dandiest of times dressing up his little boggart. "South side of Saboady. Now, take care not to let anyone get a good look at you, as I don't want to have to kill for the sake of keeping secrets, and make sure not to bother Lord Eustass' noisy hounds."

"Those silly things chase," Shachi said with a wide grin. He finished buttoning up his vest and slipped into a pair of loose slacks. "Chase, chase, chase, but they can't catch a thing. Not a rabbit, not a–"

"Shachi, take the letter and go," the doctor commanded. He knew if he didn't stop the boggart now it would only break into dance and song, and that would be more than he could handle at present. He had wanted a calm evening, not one filled with sordid singing and disastrous dancing.

The smile didn't slip off of the creature's face until it was out the door, into the dusk, and down the beaten path, letter clutched possessively to his chest.

The doctor sighed and leaned back in his reading chair with a book of scientific discoveries of the late medieval period, but it wasn't long before he was disturbed again by a dark shadow that loomed over him.

"What are you reading so late at night?"

"Only a most distressing account of how to drill holes into the heads of humans to relieve certain maladies. Really, the writer took extensive pains to detail every bit of gore. It's quite fascinating. Perhaps you'd like to peruse this volume when I am done?"

The woman stepped into the light of a dozen or so candles placed sporadically around the parlour and found herself a seat by the fireplace. She held in her ghostly white fingers a rather beaten volume that Dr. Trafalgar recognized as a seafaring guide he'd picked up once on a whim while he was still enlisted in the Navy.

"Going on an adventure, Robin?"

Her dark eyes fixated on him. "I daresay I may be moving on soon."

She never was one for speaking artfully; instead she favoured directness when it came to speaking her thoughts. She was perhaps more blunt and to the point than he was, which didn't fail to amuse him. "Oh, and where are you going, Miss Nico?"

"To seek out what really happened during the Void Century in which there is no salvageable texts. I shall board a ship and find the answers."

"And when you do, be a dear and come back to tell me all about your findings," Trafalgar said, not one to dwell on sentiments. Robin was just another of his kind, a wanderer more than anything that had stumbled upon his humble abode after an encounter with Bepo, in which she gave him a few strong words and a bop on the nose.

"I imagine you will take some of my store with you," he continued.

Robin blinked at his words and then shook her head, her curtain of straight black hair rippling in the light. "I do not plan on it."

"Oh? You can't possibly be thinking of committing barbaric felonies and getting your beautiful hands dirty. It would be most unfortunate for a noblewoman such as yourself. Please, I'm making a very sweet offer here as a gentleman, you should at least have the decency to humour me."

"I tire of talking with you," she replied, a slight smile gracing her pale lips. "You are too interested in my affairs. I do not force myself on yours, so why should I tell you my personal business? Do I ask about how many people you've killed this month, or what kinds of demons have been showing up in your fields lately?"

"No, but I shall tell you anyway now that you've brought it up. I have killed two people, both long-time victims of my beauteous caprice serum, and inflicted five others. Pity that I've had to start five this month on the cycle of degeneration. I had thought you'd be staying longer, and would have needed the sustenance. But, no matter. What's done is done."

He paused with a frown and drummed his fingers against the pages of the book in his lap. The methodical pattering sounded like drops of rain as he thought. "As for strange creatures alighting in my backyard, I do think Bepo has chased them all off with his monstrous fangs except for that rather gruesome looking bergrisar. You may know him as a mountain giant. I think I shall invite him in for tea some day."

Robin scrunched up her nose. "You keep strange company, Mister Trafalgar. Never have I ever come across another vampire with a boggart for a housekeeper and a shapeshifting bearish creature for a steed. And that is not to mention the Caladrius you have stolen out from under that duke's nose. What ridiculous name did you give it again?"

"That would be dear Penguin you are referring to. He is quite useful in determining who will live to see the light of another day and who will only see the light at the end of the tunnel. I enjoy taking him about on my little adventures around Sabaody. The locales think he is a hybrid snowy owl I have tamed for falconry, not a creature that refuses to look at any patient that won't make a full recovery."

Robin shook her head, a smile still gracing her lips. "I cannot believe you named him Penguin."

"He enjoys fish. How do you think I managed to lure him away from that awful Sengoku without getting caught? The wretched man only fed him poultry. Penguin was glad of the change in diet."

Robin was about to ask where Penguin had gone anyway so late at night, as he was not perched in his usual place above the hearth, when a sound like lightning cleaving a tree trunk in half silenced the words in her throat. Dr. Trafalgar rose leisurely and placed the book on a nearby table, then grabbed his overcoat. He hesitated for just a moment when he got to the door of his manor, then turned and grabbed his walking stick, hefting it over a shoulder.

Robin followed him outside into the backyard, a meadow of sorts that Trafalgar tended to, growing certain plants to use in his medicines. Robin was curious by nature and any commotion she heard was a welcome break from the monotony of staying in her dear friend's library all day, sifting through his dreary medical texts.

The sounds of a squabble reached their ears. Based on the low, guttural snarling Trafalgar guessed it was Bepo ready to tear the throat out of an intruder on his territory, but when he crested a hill and found several trees had been relocated and the ground torn up by large claws his eyebrows soared higher up on his forehead. He had thought it would have been the mountain giant back for a visit, but instead he saw a blur of strips that blended rather well with the dark green grasses that made up the pastureland behind his home.

He watched as teeth flashed and Bepo backed into another tree, uprooting it. The flash that continued to dart around him halted mid-step, its agile body half the size of Bepo angled towards the two figures on the hill.

"You attract green tigers from foreign lands now, Mister Trafalgar?"

"It appears that is so," Dr. Trafalgar said, descending the hill, unafraid of what kind of demonic being stood rigid at the bottom. Bepo caught the scent of his master and his fur flattened against his bearish form. By night it was hard for him to keep up the appearance of a horse, and so he reverted back to his more natural appearance, that of an albino bear.

"Bepo, who is our guest?" The bear leered at the tiger, which shone a peculiar green in the moonlight.

"_A shapeshifter of sorts. A very rude, impetuous one_."

The tiger bristled and, having been exposed by the bear, began to morph into a human shape. Trafalgar was genuinely surprised; it took many years of rigorous training to be able to take the form of a human. He had not asked Bepo to attempt to master it, as he already had his loyal boggart that did the job well enough through imitation, but he didn't doubt that it would take Bepo many seasons to learn how to emulate human flesh rather than fur.

"_Are you Sabaody's demon doctor_?" the thing asked, deep baritone voice cutting the tense air. Bepo snorted and gnashed his teeth. He was fond of gracious greetings towards his master, not uncouth assertions.

"I suppose I am," Trafalgar said, bringing the tip of his walking stick to the ground and leaning on the handle. "You have a problem you would like me to take a look at?"

The creature padded up to him through the undergrowth, one foot curving in front of another as it walked, reminiscent of a stealthy panther. He was not cat-like in appearance anymore, but distinctly human.

"_I come from the city to the far east_," the creature told him, having almost the same gravelly voice as Bepo, though it was slightly more sonorous. "_I am looking for answers…about this_." He bowed his head, and Dr. Trafalgar could clearly see the lush green that sprouted from his head. Algae-like in texture and hue, and grossly unnatural, even for a demon.

Dr. Trafalgar tossed his head towards his dwelling over the hill. His twin sets of earrings glinted ominously in the waning moonlight that the evergreen trees attempted to block out. "Please, join us in my manor. And Bepo, keep vigilant about that bergrisar. I do look forward to a time when I can invite him in for tea."

Bepo's hackles raised, clearly not approving of either the invasive shapeshifter or the mountain giant, but stalked off through the forest to continue his night watch. The greenish beast watched him go, eyes narrowed and skin itching.

"Come with me…"

The small party followed Dr. Trafalgar to his doorstep. He entered first, and then turned to see the apprehension clear on the greenish man's scarred face. He noticed an eye had been permanently damaged from some past tussle with another clawed creature. Robin, too, had stopped just shy of the steps with the wrought iron handrail that led up into the manor.

"You can come in, Robin," Dr. Trafalgar said offhandedly. She nodded and proceeded through the doorway as a spark of recognition flitted across the beast's face.

"She is a…"

"Both of us are. Natural born as well. Now, will you still come in?" The beast narrowed his eyes, attempting to make a decision that would preserve his life. "We feed only on humans, Mister…"

"Zoro."

"Mister Zoro. Do come in. I know precisely what ails you, and it should be a great honour to study your affliction. I am putting together a book of maladies that can affect demons, which will be a great reference for doctors of the future."

The human form eventually ambled up the steps and into the house, and Robin shut the door after him. Trafalgar had already lit an oil lamp overhead, and was in the process of descending on half-spent candles around the home, lighting it up so he could get a better look at the condition the creature was in.

"Well, your hair is certainly a lush green," Trafalgar confirmed, unable to suppress a chuckle. Already he was beginning to formulate additional conclusions. "Where have you been lately?"

"_In the peasant's quarters of the city to the east, beyond Sabaody, as I said_."

"You have a copper patina, I do believe, and based on what I've seen of the squalor of that city, I would guess your water source is to blame. Whatever you drank during your time in the city has adversely affected you. Water heavy in copper will cause a verdigris effect right down to your hair follicles."

The creature grimaced and Robin wrapped a shawl around his shoulders, quietly asking the man to sit down at the table rather than snarl and appear ready to rip into the doctor's throat. "_So, will I die soon_?"

"Oh, no, you are perfectly healthy. Think of the condition this way; your body is 'sweating out' an excess of copper through your skin. Of course, that is the elementary way of putting the process. Would you like to hear the scholarly account of this phenomenon, first documented in the far reaches of the North by Dr. Hiluluk?"

"_No, I'm only concerned with whether this will go away or not_."

Dr. Trafalgar went in for a closer examination, combing his fingers through the man's hair while he sat rigid in a chair with one of Robin's graceful hands on his trembling shoulder. After a few moments of inspection to gauge the depth of this affliction, Trafalgar said, "It will take a while, but it will eventually go away. For now, you are free to stay in the area. I'll see to it that Bepo won't attack you."

Zoro grunted and waved off the two vampires. He was rightfully wary of their close proximity.

"You can sleep on the divan, if you wish," Dr. Trafalgar offered. "I will start you on some tonics in the morning to speed up the expulsion of excess copper from your system. Simply put, however, drinking clean water from any of the lakes around here will cure you of your greenness."

"_I'd prefer to sleep outside_." The tiger-like man started towards the door. "_I will be back in the morning_."

Robin watched him with an intensity that Dr. Trafalgar had only seen cross her face when she was deeply engrossed within a book on the anthropological evolution of humans.

"I think I shall keep a closer eye on him, if you don't mind. Don't worry about inviting me back in later," she said. Following the man outside, she shut the door behind her. Dr. Trafalgar just grunted and returned to his studies.

He was still trying to formulate a plan of action for the grandchild of a certain irritable Lord Eustass.

-oOo-

Lord Portgas watched from above on his balcony as a mason and his crew of surly men worked on the old stable's foundation, laying new brick and erasing cracks. He wasn't watching them, specifically, but rather the blonde man in the black suit with sweeping tails, his valet. Marco had personally decided to oversee the repairs, citing that he held certain ties to all the old buildings around the estate, and had made sure his lord was retired to his bedchamber before leaving his side.

The view afforded by the balcony off of his bedchamber had allowed Lord Portgas to examine the man up and down from a distance in the waning light of the setting sun. The mason and his crew were packing up and readying their equipment for the haul back to their business's quarters, and yet Marco still stood vigilant, making sure nothing went wrong. It was not solely the dedication that Lord Portgas admired, but the very man himself seemed as appealing to him as a ripe, young woman.

How he had hoped this wouldn't happen.

He had fled to Sabaody to get away from women, those fickle creatures that taunted and ensnared him, and which he always left in ruin. He had hoped that by living surrounded by wilderness and men for the most part in this eastern manor, just as he had back when he was in the Navy, he'd be cured of the desires manifested in his very being. Now to find that his valet could stir up the same exorbitant sensations within him…it was maddening.

He stepped back inside when Marco's pale blond hair and broad shoulders went out of sight, pulling the doors shut behind him and drawing the floral curtains. He knew the man would act as any good servant would, and retire to sleep immediately in order to rise again early the next day, and that sent a torrent of guilty butterflies into Lord Portgas' stomach.

He sat on the edge of his bed, a silky dressing gown thrown over his shoulders, and waited for two chimes from the grandfather clock downstairs that rang out at each hour. When he heard those, first one and then the other after many minutes of silent reflection, he rose from the corner of his bed and paced. He ought to have gone to bed, but the stirring of animalistic craving in his gut did not lessen at any point in his silent pacing, and he found himself on the landing and looking downstairs with a furrowed brow. The manor was dark, and grotesque shadows crept along the walls, but the lord was in no way deterred.

He descended the steps and hung left, moving with the inborn stealth of a creature of the night. Which, in a rather anomalous way, he supposed he was.

His valet's room, to which he had burst into most unceremoniously yesterday evening, wasn't hard to locate. The door hadn't been closed entirely, and a crack of moonlight shone into the room, enticing him to widen the distance between door and frame. Like most of the manor, the door creaked in mock protest, and Lord Portgas wasted much time regaining his breath after a particularly cacophonic shrieking of the wood and hinges.

At last he drew the door far enough away that he was able to twist through the opening, grazing his chest and shoulders against the rough surfaces. After infiltrating, a perverse sense of satisfaction washed over him, and then more of that murderous desire took over his better judgement.

He crept up to the bedside and observed his sleeping servant. Only a tuff of blond and the profile of a tanned, calm face was visible under the worn quilt. He drew his eyes over every bit of fleshy being, every strand of hair, and listened to the chime of the grandfather clock telling him that he dwelt too long in one position. His limbs ached and shivered as he suppressed a wave of blatant lust.

Just one touch. Tonight he would award himself just one simple, innocent touch.

He fingered the edge of the quilt, felt the heat that radiated out from the body beneath, and slowly drew back a few inches of the blanket, exposing a shoulder knotted with heavy muscle. So unlike the females with white, soft and supple shoulders he had been with in the past, this man's body was strange and foreign. He contained no traces of femininity, yet Lord Portgas could not repress his attraction to him.

He dwelt further on why this could be, listening to the methodical breathing patterns of his valet, and could not come to a conclusion that would satisfy him.

Slowly, being so intimately careful, he reached out over the quilt to touch at the nape of the man's exposed neck, swallowing harshly as a powerful current raced through his boiling blood. He drew back, excited, and then repeated his touch, this time grazing the curve of the man's ear and tracing his fingertips down along a jaw covered in sharp stubble. His touch was so feather light that he didn't worry about rousing the man.

He continued his harmless, chaste petting while his other hand reached down to grip himself through the silky satin of his dressing gown. He knew if he stooped to nuzzle the man's hair with the tip of his nose he would surely lose himself over the edge. He could smell a bit of the man's scent wafting up through the chilly, dank air, and it was enough to fuel a longing in him to get closer. But he repressed the urge. If he didn't, he would violate the man.

And he couldn't have that.

He continued his soft touches, butterfly kisses upon that tanned skin, and groped himself with heady sighs and groans. When he was near to completion he daringly left his palm caress that firm shoulder, and rivulets of white-hot delight coursed through his veins at the connection. The man's skin and scent acted as his aphrodisiac, and the ecstasy that he gleaned at the merest, most modest contact contrived an array of explosions in his body that left him panting and sated.

For this night.

He withdrew mouthing an oath of self-loathing and crept back upstairs, but not before replacing the quilt back in its proper place over that tanned shoulder, erasing his presence there.

The grandfather clock chimed once more before Lord Portgas was settled and fast asleep in his own bed.

-oOo-

Marco dutifully roused Lord Portgas at an appropriate time, which was after all the pheasants had started their day and before the nobles of Sabaody would begin theirs. He assumed his lord would want to rise before noon and when he shook his shoulder, he did not expect to find his lord already awake and groggily blinking up at him.

"Ah, g-good morning, my Lord. Your tea." He placed a platter on a bedside table as his master rose into a sitting position.

"I'll take it downstairs again, Marco. I'm not really the sort to sit in bed once I'm awake and the sun is up." He kept his eyes on the blanket the pooled around his waist, pretending to rub sleep from his eyes. "And do set a place for yourself. Like I said before, I really _don't_ enjoy dining alone on _any _occasion."

Marco murmured his ascent and slipped softly downstairs to prepare the table in the parlour. Once again he felt as if he couldn't disobey his lord by protesting this strange arrangement, and to say to the man that he'd already eaten would be a mistake.

Lord Portgas dressed himself in clean clothing before going down the steps. His boiling blood was calmer than when he arrived two days ago, and he attributed it largely to what had happened in the wee hours of last night.

He wandered the house listlessly, giving Marco ample time to prepare, before strolling into the parlour to see the man waiting for him. Marco refused to sit until his lord was seated, and Lord Portgas obliged him that much. He knew quite well how much he was pushing the man out of his comfort.

The food was about as appealing to the lord as yesterday's meal had been: savoury cuts of meat, leftovers from the night before where Marco had cooked the shank of a pig, and a warm porridge with herbs from some far off land.

Marco ate his meal slowly, and more often than not his lord caught him staring out of the corner of his eyes, seemingly waiting for disapproval. Disapproval that would never come, as Lord Portgas wasn't exactly one to rebuke for any sort of bad table manners. Especially when he himself was not exactly one for dainty affairs with food.

Both ate their fill and Marco diligently rose without being ordered to clear the table, returning with letters that had arrived earlier in the morning. He had quickly skimmed them and knew that there was another one from Dr. Trafalgar, which piqued a smidgeon of unease in him, another from Duchess Jewelry, and one from the mason Franky and his crew, probably seeking payment for their work.

His lord took in the handwriting over a cup of tea, starting with what appeared the most boring of the letters and finishing with Dr. Trafalgar's fancy script and red rimmed stationary.

"Marco, the mason wants his payment, the Duchess is impatiently awaiting a reply about the invite she sent me yesterday, and Dr. Trafalgar wishes to see me personally. Do you mind running a few errands today?"

Marco's eyebrows rose with the subtlest hint of surprise. "Of course not, my Lord. It is my pleasure. I can certainly take care of any monetary matters, as I did the accounting of your father when he was still alive and consider myself practiced."

The mention of his own flesh and blood made Lord Portgas grimace. "Do," he said simply before relocating to a writing desk in the next room over to pen a quick reply to Duchess Jewelry. He would attend that sordid affair, he decided. He wished to test a few theories anyway, and there would surely be ladies around willing to be his experiment pieces. It would work out fine, or at least that was what he convinced himself as he finished his snappy letter and sealed it in an envelope, dolloping on a wax seal. Too late he realized the sealing stamp had been his father's, the coat of arms of the Gol family being splashed up in a vibrant red in front of his eyes.

That stamp was supposed to be destroyed upon the death of its owner. Curious, then, how it had turned up on the desk exactly where he had been positive he'd placed his own seal yesterday…

With a grunt he nearly tore the letter up and started from scratch, but Marco was standing patiently behind him at the back of the room, and he didn't have the apathy to make the man wait any longer. Then there was the nagging guilt that had surfaced when he awoke to see those blue, crystalline eyes blinking down at him with pure incorruptibility for the exploit that had occurred in that dark room downstairs.

"Please, while you are out at the bank, deliver this letter to the Duchess' estate. I shall be away at Dr. Trafalgar's manor up in the woods of Boin. I do not know how long he'll keep me, but I suspect it will be a day's absence. We are inseparable friends, and when we get together our conversations can get a bit…lengthy."

Marco nodded and left the room, letter in hand. He had not failed to notice how carelessly his new master tossed aside the wax seal that had belonged to his father, or the expression of utter contempt as he glimpsed the hot wax settle onto the folds of the paper. Though it pained him to see how rejecting his lord was of his birthright, the comfort afforded from the man's words on how Dr. Trafalgar was but a friend put his mind at ease.

At least now he could be relatively sure his new master wasn't harbouring an illness underneath that radiant front he put up, much like how old Gol had deceived them all for so long with a false face of health.

* * *

**A.N.:** So, as you all may have noticed, as readers you're going to have to do a bit of inferring when it comes to certain things. I.e., Lord Portgas in Marco's chambers. Yep, I shall say nothing more except that things will get more interesting from her on out for the two.

This chapter was posted today rather than Friday because Friday is going to be busy for me and I wouldn't have had time. So I hope you enjoyed the (slightly) early update and Zoro's green hair. And yes, the good doctor is right with his analysis. I got the idea when I saw an analysis of a legit green cat which had been drinking water that had a lot of copper in it.

Zoro: explained.


	4. Chapter IV

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter IV

* * *

Bringing his high-strung horse anywhere near the Boin forest proved rather difficult for Lord Portgas, even during the daytime. At night he would not dare to attempt it, for the forest held strange foliage that seemed cognizant, cantankerous, and carnivorous all at once. Then there were the beasts to contend with. The beasts that lurked within were always prowling for some sort of fleshy thing to tear into. That was what Trafalgar had warned him about extensively in his last letter.

Bepo met them at the edge of the forest, and sniffed the air with vague curiosity. Lord Portgas smiled at the white steed as he tried to rein in the unruly brute that wheezed an opaque froth into the air. When his horse caught Bepo's scent he focussed solely on the other beast, which to him smelt like certain death, and completely disregarded the cues of the lord.

With a bemused snort, Bepo loped off into the forest bowels, and horse and rider continued along a certain stone pathway that was almost overgrown with a tangle of clumped roots. Twice his horse stumbled dangerously, foaming at the mouth and throwing his head about, searching for the scent of the predator that lurked just beyond the tree line.

Lord Portgas arrived at the manor built into the side of a lush hill and admired the dark stonework and gothic trellises that swung up the sides of the structure, supporting shadowy green vines. He could see the emblem of his friend's home: that strange smiling face surrounded by a halo of prongs that reminded Lord Portgas of a symbol for a deadly disease or virus. In a port town he had visited in the past a symbol eerily identical to it was painted on the sides of houses during a plague to indicate someone infected lived within.

He hardly had cause to shiver, however. Dr. Trafalgar was not known to be excessively harsh with any creature, save for humans.

Something he was not. Not really, anyhow, which he found was more than enough to guarantee his safety.

He rode his steed right up to the siding of the home and dismounted. His horse was readying his haunches to rear and spring away in the opposite direction when he grabbed the reins to keep him steady. It took a few minutes to tranquilize the brute – by muffling the creature's crazed breathing with his gloved hand, which held only his own calming scent – before he could tie the horse to the only thing he could use in sight, the wrought iron trellis heaped in vines.

Meanwhile, the doctor within had heard the frantic neighing, the distressed snorting, and the ground being turned over by sharp hooves, and was outside to meet his friend like a gentleman.

"Ace! You have finally sought me out, have you?"

Lord Portgas turned away from his mount with an arched eyebrow and a wide, toothy grin. "I thought it was you who sent for me!"

Dr. Trafalgar chuckled and received the friendly clap on the shoulder after Lord Portgas strode up, letter in hand.

"I got your musings. Quite a funny thing to write me about, my friend."

The doctor rubbed his abused shoulder and then went inside, Shachi holding the door open for them. The boggart regarded the lord with innocent curiosity and even smiled a little, the skin around his mouth tightening and revealing his knife-like teeth.

"Well, Ace, I am engrossed in some new studies. I hope you will be kind enough to facilitate my research. It will be much tamer than my experiments upon that naval vessel we both wish to forget our shared time upon."

Lord Portgas raised both eyebrows this time as he took a seat at a table in Dr. Trafalgar's drawing room. "Whatever it is you're doing, it always sounds doubly dangerous coming out of your mouth."

"Oh, I assure you that you won't be injured by this. I'm _mostly_ seeking verbal answers to some of the questions lurking about in the murky depths of my swampy mind. You needn't fear your life."

Lord Portgas laughed. His rough, rolling thunder resonated through the rest of the quiet manor and drew out a few curious souls.

Robin wandered into their discussion, head held high and dignified, with a rather large cat held against her buxom chest. Ace let out another peel of laughter.

"Green cats, Law! Really now, or do my eyes deceive me?"

"No, your eyes are indeed accurate; that little beast is a green fiend." Trafalgar grinned, exposing a set of rather elongated, wolfish canines. "His name is Mister Zoro."

Zoro, fiend in question, growled a bit but made no effort at all to introduce himself properly even though he was more than capable. Robin continued petting him after settling into a chair, even though all could tell the beast was rather partial to her affections. Still, Zoro made no move to escape Robin's lap.

They had bonded quickly, Trafalgar noted.

"What brings you to visit the humble abode of a killer, Mr. Portgas?" Robin asked, eyes flicking between the doctor and the lord who drew up his feet on a nearby chair.

"Oh, I was sent for, Miss Robin." Lord Portgas let his eyes rove up and down the young woman's body, and felt a familiar tingling. Yet, he wasn't anywhere as attracted to this woman as he was to Marco, which greatly disturbed him. Desperately, trying to fool his disobedient body, he said, "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"

Robin smiled kindly. "Not lately. I haven't seen you for months. In fact, I was surprised you'd decided to settle here, being the worldly wanderer you are. Where's Luffy?"

Ace sighed. Nothing. No strange longing had welled up in him listening to Robin talk in that silky tone of hers.

"Luffy is…playing with the Navy, one could say. Don't tell anyone yet, but the little runt has hatched a plot to return to Sabaody, search for a crew of vagabonds, and take to the ocean again as a pirate." Robin blinked, a glazy look coming about her face. "I'm mighty proud of that idiot for his bravery to give into his ambitions. He's really the biggest fool I know."

"When will he be coming about?" she asked next, tight-lipped.

"Perhaps next month, or even earlier," he replied. He grazed his fingers along the dark wood of Dr. Trafalgar's table, and cast his eyes to the wall that had transformed into a library of thick texts. He couldn't even keep his eyes on Robin. This was problematic.

Robin rose with Zoro, who himself appeared to have been highly interested in the affairs of Luffy, and padded softly away, retiring to her private chamber. Lord Portgas watched her go and tried to follow the motion of her hips, but his interest was elsewhere.

He was so absorbed in self-pity that he hardly noticed Dr. Trafalgar abruptly get up and seek out his medical cabinets on the far side of the room. Nor did he notice that the man now stood behind him. He didn't notice all of this until he felt a peculiar, warm, sticky substance drip down over his forehead. It ran down the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his neck, and by that time Lord Portgas was swiping at it and uttering curses.

Dr. Trafalgar retreated with an empty bottle in his pale fingers, returning to his place across the table from the man he'd just assaulted to observe any and all reactions. So far, only flailing hands and angry words met his inquisitive eyes and ears.

"There is nothing quite like getting a bottle of vampire drool dumped on oneself," Lord Portgas spat, coating the sleeve of his coat with the clear, gelatinous goo.

"My apologies, Ace. Humans usually enjoy this stuff…"

"Before dying an agonizing death," Ace finished with a grimace. "And really, Law, I am not human, so please refrain from experimenting on me. I thought you said this was going to be _verbal_?"

"This is verbal, _now_. Anyhow, the fact that you are not human is precisely why I was hoping to get wondrous results from this little experiment." Dr. Trafalgar reached across the table and grabbed a notebook, then brandished a quill from inside its folds and dipped the tip in a pot of ink that sat to his right. "Unfortunately, these results have not helped me any. Of course, just to be sure…"

He began writing in his moleskin notebook, elegant script filling a page while the lord continued trying to wipe the last of the substance off of his skin. It didn't sink in like an ointment would; rather it glided upon the surface like fresh droplets of rain.

"Just to be sure…" the doctor repeated slowly before yelling, "Penguin! Come here!"

A flurry of flapping wings accompanied a shrill whistle as Penguin made his entrance from a room down the hall, plopping down on the table with dull grey, twiggy feet. He faced the doctor, ruffling his brilliant white feathers and blinking his dark, obedient orbs at him.

"Penguin, if you'll just have a look at our friend Ace here," said the doctor, gently reaching out to take Penguin's long, thin beck between his fingers. He turned the bird's head right around, showing him the patient before dropping his fingers away. The bird continued to stare at Lord Portgas, unflinching, scrutinizing him with beady eyes.

Dr. Trafalgar got up and padded over to a nearby, rather inconspicuous chest made of a metal that stayed perpetually cold to the touch. The chest was a newer invention, one that few people owned, and referred to by some as a portable cellar. The fact that the chest made of metal was unbearably heavy did nothing to influence a new epithet.

The doctor quickly opened and shut the top of the box, retrieving one thing from its hold. From his position, Lord Portgas could see the innumerable cylindrical jars filled with a red liquid heaped on top of one another, methodically placed not so long ago.

"Lots of victim's lately, huh?" the lord commented, acutely aware of the soul searching gaze locked on him. Penguin was beginning to unnerve him, though he knew the bird was beyond harmless.

"Robin isn't the biggest eater, and frankly neither am I, but I do have a bad habit of stockpiling things in the event that someday, sometime, I may need them." He waggled a frozen, scaly body about behind his Caladrius' head. "That's enough, Penguin. It seems as though our dear Ace won't die anytime soon. Here's your fish."

He tossed the fish and the bird snapped its head around like an owl, crushing the little six-inch krill between its beak. The Caladrius dropped it onto the table for just a second to pluck out the fish's dried eyeballs, then gobbled up the rest of the body whole, swallowing like a cormorant.

Lord Portgas looked away, rolling his eyes at the spectacle. As the bird hopped and flapped to a perch jutting out of the mantelshelf of a nearby fireplace, he said, "Well, I'm glad your strange harbinger of death thinks I'm going to be fine. I thought you said I wasn't going to have to fear for my life?"

"That was my hypothesis speaking," Dr. Trafalgar said with a wry smile. "In science no theory is definite." He sighed, placing his chin in his hand so his goatee was no longer visible. "Well, Ace, these results are most disappointing. That is not to say, however, that I wish death upon you."

Shachi, meanwhile, had been preparing a quick lunch for the two, and was finally ready to serve it. A full plate of delectable cuts from something that had lived deep in the woods that Bepo brought home dead and bloody for Lord Portgas' anticipated visit and an intricate glass that was soon topped off with a dark substance for his master.

Lord Portgas ignored the glass set in front of the doctor. If he thought too much about its contents he would retch on the spotted fur rug beneath his feet. Instead he dug into the meat and asked his friend, "What were you trying to do, Law?"

The doctor sighed and moved to rest his chin in both his hands now, elbows digging into the wood of the table. He stared into his wine glass, noting that the blood was thicker than usual. Since he had an overstock, Shachi had not taken to thinning the tart juice with water as he had in their early years together. "Do you know of Lord Eustass, to the South?"

"The hermit?" A pale brow wrinkled and a bit of meat slipped from rosy lips.

"Yes. The hermit had a son at one point, unbeknownst to the world, and that son, now deceased, had a child with a largely unknown woman. Likely illegitimate. Ace, that child is my newest patient, and after he smeared himself with some of my… _special_ serum, I'm beginning to question that child's bloodline." Dr. Trafalgar nibly picked up his wine glass and precariously swirled the liquid about so it rode the edge of the glass, nearly spilling over. "You know I don't like gaps in my knowledge, and this is most certainly a gap." He finished with a frown and took a deep drink, the rouge slipping down his throat.

"And this ties in with dumping caprice serum all over me because…?"

The doctor made certain to clean his teeth with a bit of spare saliva and a quick flash of tongue before opening his mouth again. "Because, my dear friend, I have cause to believe this one may be some sort of demon of a higher hierarchy, much like yourself, but unaware of the fact." Dr. Trafalgar stroked one of his tattoos on the back of his hand. He had several black marks all over his body. Their origins lay in his original master, whom taught him the most basic of all medical practices before disappearing only to end up on a stake with a bonfire beneath him. Needless to say Trafalgar had learned from the mistakes of his predecessors.

Eventually, Dr. Trafalgar let an eerie smile take hold of his mouth. "You know how I absolutely can't let well enough alone. He could be the perfect test specimen to play around with. I have a variety of acids and poisons I've been meaning to try on–"

"I'm going to politely stop you here before your mind goes down a completely twisted pathway," Lord Portgas said, tossing some stray ebony locks from his eyes. He was more or less finished with the midday meal, and Shachi grabbed the plate to clean it. "Now, _I_ actually have a problem I'd like to get your opinion on."

"Oh? Did something happen during your travels from the city to little Sabaody?"

"No, no. Well, perhaps. I'm actually not sure when it started, really. But I know it's going to be a problem. You see, my senses seem to be…" he trailed off, gesticulating with his hands some hard-to-conceive term.

"A bit off?"

"A lot off," the lord insisted, placing his hands in his lap to keep them from trembling. "I fear it could be something as serious as my nature shifting."

"Now _that_ is curious. Yet I can't say I'm surprised. You showed none of your usual lust for Robin, and the first thing you noticed when she entered the room was not her plump breasts but the greenish shapeshifter with an excess of copper swimming about in his blood."

"Oh, so that's what that thing was. I was wondering about it."

"My point precisely. So what, or rather _who_, has caught your single-minded attention so completely that you've begun to ignore all others?"

Ace sighed, knowing his friend would laugh at him, but said it anyway. "A man."

He received his ten long seconds of laughter before the doctor grew serious again. "A man, hmm? It's very unusual that _you'd_ become a mandrake so suddenly. Now I understand what you meant about your nature going through a shift. How amusing." The doctor dipped his quill in his inkpot again and turned to a different page in his notebook. "Please tell me about it."

"There is nothing much to tell," the lord muttered glumly. He had no intention whatsoever of explaining his perverse actions the night before. Not when there was a chance of them being recorded in Trafalgar's moleskin book. "I am infatuated, only not with a woman that I can sleep with and then abandon within the hour."

"No, men are much harder to bed," Dr. Trafalgar admitted wistfully. "Is he a lord you happened to pass when you stepped off the ship, or what?"

Lord Portgas dropped his gaze to the table, picking at his cuticles. "No, he's…my new valet."

The doctor snickered. "Now _that _is certainly something worth investigating. But honestly, Ace, why don't you simply take the man by force, kill him, and call me to take care of the body with some sulphuric acid and a little bit of firepower? Then you could move on to your next pursuit, whomever she shall be, and there will be no repercussions with the law and what have you."

Scrunching up his features, the lord shook his head, appalled. "No. _No_. I do not kill."

Trafalgar drank down the rest of his meal and set the glass down daintily, licking his lips. "Well, think of it in this light, Ace. It could be a very good thing that you're attracted to someone who isn't so easily obtained. It would give you and your incubus desires a break."

The lord brightened and sat back in his chair. "I suppose you're right. All I have to do is resist a bit of temptation under my own roof. It's actually relieving not to have the usual craving to pounce on every woman that passes me by. This could be therapeutic."

The doctor chuckled and rose from his chair. "I hope you'll let me know how that works out for you."

The lord got to his feet and nodded vaguely. "Sure. And in return maybe you'll inform me of this grandchild of Lord Eustass'. I'd like to keep tabs on all the lords around here, just for my own reference."

"I suppose I shall see you in a few days or a week at the latest. I assume you've been invited to Duchess Jewelry's little get together?"

"After she sent forth a second letter to prod me into action, I sent her a reply that I would attend, yes. She's a rather persistent woman, isn't she?"

"Made all the more persistent when she heard the tale of the Gol fortune."

Ace guffawed as he shrugged into his overcoat. When he finally stopped panting to get his breath back he barked out, "The One Piece! It is not even in my possession! It is somewhere out on the ocean, and I will admit I have no desire to find it at the moment, unlike Luffy."

"That's not what a lot of people believe," Dr. Trafalgar said with a snicker. "But no matter. I have to be going to Lord Eustass' to check up on the boisterous grandson."

Lord Portgas snickered his way out the door, mounted his steed so weak from nervous fright that he didn't even toss his head, and rode off.

With a loud cry, the doctor summoned Bepo when his friend was out of sight. He then gathered up his medical rucksack and, after a moment of contemplation, asked Penguin to perch himself on his shoulder.

"We have work to attend to," he told the bird, who ruffled his feathers and appeared pleased to be going on a venture with his master.

-oOo-

Dr. Trafalgar hadn't quite been expecting a knife to be tossed in his direction, aimed at striking his heart, but his quick reflexes and the walking stick he'd brought along for the occasion proved useful rather than simply fashionable.

"Lord Eustass, or should I call you Childish Kidd? What do you think you are doing with your grandsire's silver cutlery?"

"I am going to fucking kill you for what you did to my body," the man growled, advancing upon the doctor with another knife. Luckily, he could deal with a single knife. If the man had gotten hold of a firearm…

Now he knew what the elder Eustass had meant earlier when he said they didn't keep guns on the estate with which to hunt game. It had been a subtle warning, not idle chitchat.

"Mister Eustass," Dr. Trafalgar persisted, "you really ought to tame your foul language. What if a woman walked in to hear you cuss like that?"

"If a woman did walk in, don't you think she would be _more_ appalled by a bloody body hanging from the ceiling with all its innards strewn across the floor?"

Dr. Trafalgar cracked a grin. "I see you are as lusty as ever. Shall we begin your torture now, or should we play with knives a bit longer?"

"You're mad," snarled Lord Eustass, eyes flicking to the door of the drawing room. He knew his grandfather had locked them in together. After the doctor had left him subdued and complacent the last time he'd been around, his grandfather had been eagerly awaiting the man's return. He felt like Rapunzel in a castle.

Only Rapunzel did not have to deal with a persistent, raccoon-eyed person and his pearly white smile.

He threw another knife in anger, embedding it in the wall next to the doctor's head. He had to admit, he was slightly impressed that the other did not flinch away or cower behind a piece of furniture like many of the other men his grandfather had hired.

"Mister Eustass, if you would be so kind as to take a seat. I wish to psychoanalyze your psychotic mind today."

"Your dry humour just _kills_ me," the young lord said with a beastly scowl. Regardless, he had run out of knives with which to hurl, and besides, this time he would not let the doctor sneak up on him, nor would he experiment with what lay in this strange man's medicine bag. He had learned from their last encounter. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

"Alright," said Dr. Trafalgar, plopping himself down on the nearest piece of furniture, a low tea table. He crossed his legs and withdrew a notebook from his bag. Following was the bottle of ink. A pregnant pause. Then: "Ah, I seem to have forgotten a quill."

Lord Eustass snickered and lay back in a chair, only to tense when the doctor sprang to his feet and crossed the room with long strides. He stopped in front of one of the windows, fiddled with the latch, and finally yanked the glass up enough to fit a small body through. The second he stuck his head out and leaned his body over the ledge a morbid thought crossed the young lord's mind. He would have liked to run over and tip the self-righteous fool out the window by his pert behind.

The idea was conceived too late, as the man with the shadow-ringed eyes pulled himself back in. Much to his surprise, the doctor had his arm outstretched, and on it perched a very large, hunched, white bird. The yellow beak chittered an inaudible tune, almost as if the bird was muttering to itself.

He walked back to the table and placed the creature on a tall vase imported from a land beyond the sea. Then he got his quill by plucking a relatively small flight feather from the innermost part of the bird's outstretched wing.

"Now, where were we? I believe we were going to have a jovial discussion about that mind of yours."

Lord Eustass grunted, still not intending to cooperate. If that bird was a way for the doctor to strike up a conversation, he would not give him the satisfaction of asking a question about it. He would simply accept its presence and not let it bother him. That would surely annoy this man and foil his scheme.

Yet the doctor didn't attempt idle avian chitchat. "I want to know some things about your apparently troubled subconscious. Tell me about your dreams, Mister Eustass. When you wake up, what do you find you've dreamt about?"

"I have no dreams."

"Everyone has dreams, Mister Eustass. It's a matter of whether or not they can remember them." The doctor began smoothing and sharpening the quill he'd just plucked with his fingernails. The bird, meanwhile, had tucked its head under a wing, and didn't seem to be too concerned about the dark aura the lord gave off.

"Alright, fine." Lord Eustass adjusted his shirt, bothered a bit by the stifling heat in this stuffy room. He would much rather be rid of the useless fabric and walk around outside with his torso bare. "I had a dream, not so very long ago, where I killed someone."

He noticed the quill had begun scratching the paper and smirked. With a plot hatching, he continued: "So I killed this man by shooting him several times in the feet, maybe a couple times in the arms and chest for good measure, but what I did after that when he was still moaning and groaning was…" he trailed off, giving the doctor time to catch up with his quill. "What I did after I'd shot him was quite spectacular. I ripped him limb from limb with a rather blunt knife and my bare hands, and I suppose by this point he might've died, and then I scattered his organs around. But I kept his intestines you see, and I may have been intending to make some condoms out of 'em, you know, like they do with pigs intestines, but by that point I must have woke up. I imagine if the dream had kept going, I likely would have gone to one of those bordellos and knocked up half the whorehouse, but ah, it was not to be. A good dream cannot last forever, can it?"

Dr. Trafalgar finished writing within the minute and cast his eyes up to see his patient reclining with his feet high in the air, swung over the armrest of the sofa he'd laid upon. "A most curious account, Mister Eustass."

"The most curious part," the lord continued, his smirk growing, "is that the fellow I butchered looked just like you. Right down to the creamy white buttons on your coat."

He expected horror or revulsion, but instead the young doctor merely snorted and closed his notebook. "I see trying to get anything out of you is like trying to get a horse to throw up its hay."

"Horses cannot physically puke," Lord Eustass said, narrowing his eyes in confusion. "They colic and the intestines end up twisted in knots."

"And so the comparison is drawn." He picked up the bird behind him and swung the creature about so it huddled in his lap. The bird was unperturbed by the disturbance, and the doctor's hands stroking down the length of its back only made the creature more lethargic. "Dear Penguin here is quite the beautiful specimen. Truly one of a kind. Tell me, what do you think of when you see this magnificent bird?"

"I think of killing it and roasting it on a spit like a common goose."

The doctor sighed. "Penguin here would sooner see your death." He smiled at the irony that was so clearly lost on the young man.

"That is a stupid name for a bird that looks nothing like a penguin."

Eyebrows arched and the smile that never left the doctor's face for long broadened. "Oh, you have heard of that species then?"

"Who hasn't? It's been the talk of the scholars up north lately. They just love cataloguing fat birds. Likely because they remind them of their pompous selves, waddling about and squawking at one another."

"Is that really your view on scientists?"

"Only those concerned with the study of fat birds. I actually have a deep respect for scientists, especially those in the field of physics. Now, are we done today?"

Dr. Trafalgar replaced his notebook in his bag and left the quill on top of it. Likely Bepo would be anxious to go home and hunt. He just hoped whomever he'd handed his steed off to didn't decide to place the creature in with the rest of the horses. It would be a test of his ability to lie if a few of the horses went missing and bloody patches of grass were found. Not to mention red showed up starkly on Bepo's coat.

He let his fingers grope for the object he knew was there in his bag, and finally located it. He didn't dare withdraw it with the lord's eyes watching him closely, and instead pulled the handles of the bag over his shoulder.

"Well, Mister Eustass, it has been an absolute pleasure to hear about your desires to copulate and rip my limbs off, but I must be going on my way to a few more appointments in the heart of Sabaody. Show me to the door?" He leaned in to snuggle his face against the soft down on Penguin's chest, very carefully whispering a separate set of instructions. He got a talon curl as an answer and the bird hopped from his lap, ready to spring into action.

"Show yourself to the door."

"So I shall," Dr. Trafalgar replied, ignoring the rudeness of his host's grandson. "After I take a turn about this magnificent room. Really, the architecture is stunning; I cannot help but desire a closer look."

With all the poise of a graceful feline, Dr. Trafalgar leapt from his roost and walked the circumference of the room, strolling about it so he appeared to be appreciating the many paintings on the walls of various lords that had dwelled in the manor previously. The eyes were still on him, and the closer Trafalgar dared to stray to his tense patient the more he came to realize the irises of the man's eyes were not black, but a very dark red. It reminded him of certain albino rabbits Bepo had brought home from deep within Boin. They appeared positively possessed by demonic forces.

As he went for his second rotation around the room and stopped to examine a carved wooden figure that sat on a ledge along the wall, conveniently behind the lord's back, a shrill shriek sounded. Quickly he turned and withdrew his hand from his medicine bag, and in his fingers gleamed a hypodermic needle, full of a very carefully chosen substance.

He ripped off the cap that protected the needle, saw Penguin soaring towards Lord Eustass, who gave the bird his full attention, and slammed the needle home in the lord's bulging neck, plunging the liquid in just below his ear. He howled, and Penguin pulled up over his head before crashing, dropping through the air to grab a tight hold of the extra fabric that gathered around his master's shoulders.

Dr. Trafalgar sprinted away with his bird holding on by its beak and talons, one angry pursuer leaping the sofa and thundering after them.

"You insidious fucker!"

"I shall return tomorrow night! Give my best to your delightfully dowdy grandfather!" cried the doctor as he eased himself through the window he'd left open earlier. Lord Eustass reached the escape route just seconds after the much thinner man passed through it and cursed loudly, slamming his hands down on the windowsill and breaking chunks of weaker wood away. When he tried to hike a foot into that open air while sliding the rest of his body through, he realized it would be suicide to follow the doctor, who had landed haphazardly on the ground and was calling like a madman for his steed.

"If you come back here I'll kill you with my bare hands! Forget the gun and the blunt knives, I'd rather tear your head off with my goddamn teeth!"

By then that obnoxiously large horse had loped up like an obedient hound, and Trafalgar vaulted onto the beast's bare back. He spurred his mount into a gallop, with no concern whatsoever about the missing saddle or bridle. His tack was simply unimportant.

The impudent man had the mettle to wave cheerily over his shoulder as he fled, leaping a crumbled garden wall and disappearing out of sight.

* * *

**A.N.:** Thank you, everyone, who has left a comment on either the story as a whole or the last chapter. I haven't the time to reply to individual reviews like I used to, but rest assured I read each and every one thoroughly whilst grinning like a maniac. Really, I love you all.


	5. Chapter V

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter V

* * *

Dr. Trafalgar returned home late in the afternoon, as the sun began its descent below the evergreen trees, to find dead animals tacked to the front of his door. Two rabbits and the head of a doe, its black coal eyes missing from their sockets. The blood had seeped down the dark wood, staining it, and a puddle that he would barely be able to leap over gathered at his feet.

"Shachi! Shachi, come outside at once and clean up your mess!" the doctor cried, irritated more than anything at being unable to enter his humble abode. "_Shachi_! I will _not_ play demonic games with you."

Bepo wandered over and sniffed at the deer head. "_Freshly killed_," he informed his companion through pointed teeth, who clearly could tell for himself. The blood was still dripping and had not yet hardened. He did not want to sully himself just for his morbid curiosity, yet he had the uncanny feeling that at least the gory remains of the deer would still be warm to the touch.

"Shach–"

"I'm here, Master!"

The doctor looked up to see his little whale-like boggart clamouring down a bunch of vines from a window above. He looked nearly human in his little cap and boyish garb, but his feet were horridly clawed and webbed. They also shone as if slick. Law immediately thought he had been playing in either the lake or the washbasin earlier.

If his floors were wet, too, on top of this disgrace…

"I'm here," Shachi said as he alighted on the ground, clawed toes sifting through dirt cheerily. The doctor gave an exaggerated head nod towards his front door. "Oh dear," Shachi breathed out through his gills, "Oh dear. Well. I was _not_ the culprit."

"_It smells like that shapeshifter_," Bepo informed them. His chest puffed, and Trafalgar knew the bear would gloat later that he had known better than to let strangers past their threshold. "_I think he meant them as thanks or something._"

"Clean it up anyway, Shachi," Dr. Trafalgar instructed. "It is an abhorrent mess and I have work to prepare for later this evening. When I come back I hope it'll be clean. What an idiotic way to thank a man…"

Shachi immediately began to grumble under his fangs, and Trafalgar added, "I shall bring you back something from Grove 52. Squid, or something else that is equally slimy."

Shachi brightened immensely. The way to a whale-boggart's heart was certainly through his preference for seafood.

"By the way, where is Robin?"

Shachi wriggled his clawed toes, disturbing the dirt around his feet. "I think she said she'd be at the library in Grove 32. She didn't leave that long ago. The tiger-man went with her. He must have done this just before he left…_rude_."

Trafalgar grunted. It wasn't his business, and he no interest really in the affairs of a vampire passing through, even if they were dear friends who oft exchanged letters. He mounted Bepo and headed off again through the forest, leaving Shachi to make sense of the mess for him. Besides, there was always something for a doctor to do during the daytime. He had two empty cylinders stashed in Grove 2, a rather lawless area but a good place to hide things. One sickly patient liable to die at any time sprang to mind as he thought of those glass jars he stashed away.

He figured he might as well do some collecting while he had some spare time on his hands.

"To Grove 2, Bepo, then to the docks. Quickly, I want to catch the merchants before they close up shop for the day," Trafalgar informed his steed. Bepo huffed and his hide shivered in a white spasm as he altered his form slightly. Leaner legs and an elongated neck. More horse-like. Faster and more appealing to the eye, certainly.

They arrived in the lawless area of Sabaody, which was a collection of little huts that made up the 'grove,' many of them taverns where ruffians and bandits reigned supreme. The area was surrounded by a dense wood rumoured to have been the territory of a witch. An old folktale of the people of Sabaody, Trafalgar soon discovered. Nevertheless, the people refused to set foot in the surrounding woods of Groves 1 through to 29, often indicated on maps as red wash of colour dotted along the fringes of the town's centre. He more or less claimed the areas indicated in red for his own purposes.

Bepo spiralled down a hidden path into the woods just outside of the tiny hamlet. Trafalgar could see lamps through the trees. Once off the main road Bepo changed into a form more suited for crashing through the bushes. Though Trafalgar hated being jarred about on the back of a bear, he bore it as the form gave Bepo much relief. Besides, it would be a long, horsey night for him yet.

"That tree, Bepo. On the other side."

Bepo rounded a particular elderly birch and skidded to a halt when Trafalgar tugged at the scruff of his neck. The cylinders were just where he'd left them, in a rotted hollow near the trunk. He grabbed them, cramming them inside his medical rucksack for later.

The docks, Groves 50 through to 59, were peasant hamlets that were attached to the sea. He rode through the middle of civilization to get there, prompting Bepo into a very horse-like gallop. Not many souls were wandering about their respective hamlets or walking down the roads at this hour as it was nearing supper, but those he did encounter waved respectfully. He gave off a definite aura of being in a great hurry, and they marvelled after him, he knew. It helped keep up the tireless appearance of being dedicated to his work.

Bepo was winded by the time they arrived at the marketplace down on the wharf of Grove 53. Trafalgar bought some squid off of a fisherman and a few fish from the stall next to him for Penguin. He then caught a farmer trying to trade a freshly killed goose for either some fish or money from a vendor. The vendor wasn't looking to buy or trade, and Trafalgar made an offer for Bepo's sake. He just hoped Bepo wasn't salivating too openly.

After he was finished his shopping and had tied everything but the goose down to Bepo using a rope he had in his rucksack, he departed for a new location. He went to the farthest reaches of the township of Sabaody, to Grove 74, where he knew one very sick resident lived.

When he arrived he left Bepo in dense shrubbery, hidden from sight. "Enjoy your goose, but don't eat any of the fish."

Bepo snorted. "_The only thing I like from the water is waterfowl_."

He left him to the distinct sound of crunching bones and ripping flesh. Bepo was making a mess. He sighed, knowing it was too late to reprimand his steed, and continued on his way.

It was mere coincidence that he should run into a maid on his way up the pathway to one of the homes with thatched roofing. She took one look at him, stammered unintelligibly, and then pointed eagerly in the direction of the house.

He sighed once more. Damn. He was late.

Wordlessly he went inside and was directed to the bedside of one very pale, very much dead man under a cloth.

"Your master is dead," he told the maid girl quite plainly. She nodded, lip trembling.

"Before he… he sent me yesterday to the lawyer, for his will and all, and just now I was leaving to go to my Master's cousin's estate, sir. Mister Hawkins and his family? They promised to do the funeral arrangements when they were here last."

Dr. Trafalgar nodded. It seemed as though the dead body would be in good hands. He was just glad he was not being coerced into cleaning it and preparing it to be laid out in the front parlour – apart from the latter it had already been done. He could see the maid had wrapped a handkerchief beneath the chin and around the top of the head, and fastened it tightly. The maid then went on to explain that he'd died in sleep so there were no final words to be recorded, and that his eyes had been closed already. She'd also placed a linen cloth over the body and coins over the eyes to ward off the corpse's desire to bring someone else to the grave.

"All the mirrors in the house are covered with black sheets as well, doctor," she said.

Despite feeling an inkling of disappointment at having arrived too late to salvage a certain something from his victim's body, he had to admire this young woman's attention to detail.

"You are very efficient," he said. "Cleaning the body and all. He is dressed in a white nightgown, I presume?"

"Yes," the girl answered. "With white socks, doctor. I didn't tie his ankles together though…"

"Ah, I suppose I can take care of that. You've certainly done enough. Why don't you go to the estate of Mr. Hawkins now? I'll finish up here and move him into the parlour before the family arrives."

"Oh, oh!" she cried. "Are you sure you can lift him by yourself? He's quite a large man. Or rather he was."

Trafalgar snickered at the innocent concern. "Yes, I'm much stronger than I appear." He ushered the girl out, thankful that maids were generally very trusting of doctors. Anyone else and the girl wouldn't have left her master's side.

He stared down at the body beneath him, then slipped a hand under both the linen cloth covering it and the nightgown, touching the chilled flesh. It had certainly been a few hours, yet for his purposes did he even need the body to be fresh? The internal organs would still be acceptable if he wasn't to use them for anything other than dissection and a little amusement over a cup of tea.

He didn't drink tea. For some reason, the thought brought laughter out through his lips. Laughing in the face of Death…how rude of him. Oh well, he was already disrespecting the dead with his scheming.

He withdrew a scalpel, a medical saw, and a cloth from his rucksack, as well as one of the jars he'd picked up. With his supplies on hand, he went to work. He made two cuts, one down the middle of the chest and one over the heart, breaking ribs as he went. He retrieved what he wanted, holding it in his hands before placing it into the jar. When he finished only a bloody piece of cloth told of his lecherous deeds, and he could either wash or burn that later. He'd taken what he wanted and sewn the incisions up.

The nice thing about corpses that had been dead for several hours was that the blood was mostly stagnant and didn't run all over the place.

He finished dressing up the corpse and then left a note, explaining that he'd gone through all the rituals needed for a proper burial. He knew they wouldn't check anything on a closer scale. They never did.

All of his long-time caprice serum victims were people that wouldn't be too closely looked after. He had screened them well in advance. That was one of the many advantages to being a _trusted_ doctor.

Moving the body was an arduous task, but somehow he managed and laid him out on a table in the front parlour of the home. After a moment's contemplation he folded the stiff, lifeless arms over the broad chest. The dead looked like the picture of a sleeping man. His work was thorough.

Now, it was dusk and he had to return home to prepare for his visit to the Eustass estate in the wee hours of the night. There was still much preparation to be done.

-oOo-

"Perhaps you should get some rest, my Lord?"

Lord Portgas looked up and saw that Marco had returned to his study, wearing a face of concern. "I thought you would be in bed by this hour yourself, Marco. In fact, I believe I sent you there."

Marco gave him a wry smile and said, "I cannot sleep knowing you're still awake. Forgive me for disobeying your orders, my Lord."

The lord sighed and shut the book he had in his lap, a text concerning primitive art that had been found in the New World. He hadn't really been reading it anyway. It was impossible to get any reading done when his blood was boiling so.

"Tea?" Marco asked tentatively. The man's deep, sonorous voice had stolen all of the lord's attention.

"No," the lord said. He placed the book on a nearby table, aware that if he didn't do it now, he would likely drop it on the floor like a fool in the presence of this man. "No, I'm not really planning on staying up much longer." He looked over to Marco, and his body was pulled closer to the edge of the seat. He simply could not avoid it.

"Marco, what is your opinion of me?" he asked suddenly. He wanted to know. "It has been a few days now, and surely you have formed one?"

"Ah," Marco mumbled, "I can't say I've _formed _an opinion just yet. I mean, a few days is not long enough to do so, my Lord. I still don't know a great deal about you."

Lord Portgas contemplated this, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back in his seat. "Hmm. I see. Well, you should know that I enjoy art immensely. I have a great appreciation for it, and I am something of a painter myself. I enjoy portraiture."

"Oh, is that so?" Marco gave him a genuinely enthusiastic little smile. "You have people sit for you, then?"

"Yes. All the time. Yet at the moment I don't have many people in the area that I can convince to lounge about for a few hours in one position."

"That's unfortunate," Marco said, tanned face softening. Part of Marco's appeal, the lord supposed, was his general empathy for people. Whoever had raised him had done a good job of it.

Lord Portgas pursed his lips, wondering if he dared broach his true reason for bring up the subject. He snickered at his apprehension, and decided that if he didn't dare now, he likely would not get another convenient chance.

"Marco, I wish to ask a favour of you. See, I enjoy painting those that I believe have a strong tolerance for holding a single position at length, as well as those who have many layers of hidden emotion. So, it has occurred to me that perhaps the perfect subject would be mine own servant."

His valet was silent for a few seconds, blankly blinking at him through long lashes. Finally he said, "You don't mean to suggest…?"

"I do, of course. You would be the perfect sitter. If you are willing."

He could see Marco was confused, and rightly so. "But wouldn't you rather paint someone who is… I'm sure if you asked the duchess, or one of her noblewomen, they would be more apt to–"

"No, no," Lord Portgas interrupted. He cringed as he used a bit more force than was necessary to get his point across and softened himself immediately. "I haven't the patience to paint every fold of a woman's dress. Besides, I am very interested at this point in time in the more…_revealing _art of the painters and sculptors in old Italy. The classical Romans and Greeks, too, had the right idea. The human form is better expressed without, or with minimal clothing, wouldn't you agree? Not multiple petticoats and what have you."

Marco's eyes had widened and he seemed about to topple over. He said nothing, unable to refuse as it was a request of his master, yet unable to accept either.

"If you are willing," Lord Portgas repeated. "If not, it changes nothing. I'm merely bored of books and in need of something more expressive to occupy my time."

His subtle insistence was what wore Marco down. That, and Marco sincerely wished to please his master by obedience. "It would be an honour. When do you wish to have me sit for you?"

"Tomorrow should be wonderful. I have a feeling that it should be a marvellous summer day tomorrow, perfect to paint outside. Or, we could do it here in this room. The lighting is fair."

His lord's excitement brought a hesitant smile out of Marco. "Well then. Tomorrow I shall rise early and get the brunt of the day's tasks out of the way."

"Then you should sleep. Go. Good night, Marco."

"G'night, my Lord," he chorused, leaving the room with the grace in his carriage that Lord Portgas loved to admire. He felt giddy at the thought of what tomorrow would bring. He honestly had not anticipated that Marco would agree so easily.

He spent the better part of the night lounging in bed, his eyes toying with the shadows of the room and imagining all the different ways he could position his servant to create a pleasing portrait.

-oOo-

Dr. Trafalgar arrived at the Eustass estate a few hours after midnight, leaving Bepo to sit in a nearby stream to wash his bloody muzzle off. The moon was radiant, shining down through the trees as he crossed a meadow and traversed through the Eustass courtyard. He approached first the doorway, taking in the sight of the massive manor, then moved around to the side of the house. Here there were a few windows he could likely climb in through.

If he weren't a vampire.

He circled the house to gather his rampaging thoughts and then approached the door once more, grasping the bronze knocker to clap it hard against the metal surface of the plate behind. The metallic clanging roused a servant, who opened the door to find the doctor shrouded in fog.

The poor creature, in that awkward stage between boy and man, appeared to be scared witless. It was not often that people visited this late at night, and never in fog illuminated by moonlight.

Fog was eerie and some considered it to be a demonic trademark. He had a feeling he could lump the boy in with those superstitious sorts.

"I am doctor Trafalgar Law. Surely you've heard of me. I wish to room here and wait for your master to awaken. Will you let me in?"

The boy glanced behind him into the gloom of the house, waving the candle he held on a plate in his hands around so firelight lit the room immediately behind him. "O-oh, oh, certainly doctor. Come in."

Dr. Trafalgar glided inside, smiling smugly at how easy it was to convince humans to let a creature of night through their house's threshold. Now that he was in, it would be simple to take control and do as he pleased.

"Go to bed, boy, and leave me that candle. I'll settle myself in the parlour," the doctor commanded sternly, leaving little room for argument. The child looked at him and nodded, too nervous by his authoritarian tone to object. Trafalgar could be rather imposing, and besides, everyone trusted the doctor not to do anything strange.

The boy scampered off, leaving the candle behind on a table. As soon as he was out of sight, the doctor went over and blew the flame out. He wouldn't need it to see, considering his eyesight in ethereal darkness was superb, and if he did wish the young Lord Eustass to see him, there would be plenty of moonlight to aide his eyes should the man's bedchamber have a window.

He treaded lightly up the nearest stairs, medical bag slung over his shoulder. He had a feeling the bedchambers of the nobles would be up on the second floor of the home. He turned right upon ascending the marble steps and began opening doors. He found the elder Eustass first, snoring away. As he stood in the doorway, he fancied what he could do to the man. Kill him, certainly. Draw out his death with his fanciful caprice serum.

If he was but a human, which Trafalgar had yet to check for.

He ambled over to the bedside and hovered over the man's wrinkled face. He knew not if there was some absolute way of checking for the authenticity of one who had demon's blood in their veins, but he knew a human when he smelt one.

This one smelt very appetizing, if a bit aged. Like milk left in the sun.

He drew back in disgust at the thought and quitted the chamber before he could become engrossed in the scent of fresh, unspoilt blood churning beneath the surface of the elder lord's skin. It had been long since he'd last sunk his teeth into someone still alive. He didn't murder openly these days – disappearances or dead, pockmarked bodies were liable to raise torches and pitchforks in Sabaody. He wished to avoid the hubbub if at all possible. This was exactly why he played around with people, degraded their bodies until death was but a kind and expected release from it all.

It was much subtler, anyway. Yet boring. He could gather his drink of choice almost too easily. He had it down to an art. And when a gentleman has worked something down to an art, he finds that it is no longer desirable.

The consequence was that biting the senior Eustass suddenly became desirable, even if his rational conscious knew it to be disgusting.

He slunk around, peering here and there, and came upon another bedchamber belonging to the younger Eustass. He could hear the peaceful snores – not loud, yet absolutely riotous in the silence of the house – emanating from within. He entered and drew up alongside the crimson sheets on the bed.

Next he perused his medical bag, withdrawing from it a length of rope that had been cut into two pieces. He was a man who always had rope handy for just such occasions. With it he worked quickly, locating wrists and decorative holes in the bed's headboard and patching the two together. When he had both wrists tied securely, he watched from a distance as Lord Eustass woke, thrashing about fitfully but unable to break his binds.

He drew open the curtains, casting an expansive beam of moonlight onto the bed. When he was certain that Lord Eustass' blinking eyes were trying to focus on his dark silhouette, he let his voice ring out.

"Mister Eustass, it is a pleasure to see you again. I have returned for your check-up, as promised."

He swore he heard a beastly growl. Sure enough, as he took a few paces to the bedside, another growl emerged from the limp form of the man, whom had stopped thrashing at the sound of Trafalgar's voice.

"_You_."

"Oui, _moi_, seigneur de mauvaise humeur."

"Your French is detestable."

"Mon Français est parfait quand je suis à la bonne société," the doctor returned with a toothy smile. "Now, I wish to know how you are feeling. What happened to your poor body after I injected you with that drug?"

"I shall never tell you," snapped Eustass.

"Not even if I tickle your feet with a goose feather, Monsieur?"

Eustass swore and threw his weight against his binds, causing the headboard of the bed to tip forward and then smash back against the wall. It was a fierce attempt, but Dr. Trafalgar could see that his patient's strength was being sapped from his body. The drug meant to subdue him had some effect after all. Still, according to his extensive studies, if the man were human the drug should have left him barely able to open his eyes and certainly in no shape to twist his massive body about like a dying marlin.

"You tempt me to butcher you," the man said next after he regained his breath. "What the hell have you done to me?"

"Oh, this and that. It is of no import now. I can see the results quite clearly. Let us move on. I wish to ask more questions of you and your parentage, and seeing as how we're all tied up, I'm sure you'll be much more amiable than the last time I visited a few hours prior."

Dr. Trafalgar circled around the bed and approached from the other side, letting Lord Eustass see his face in the moonlight. He could see from this angle something that had escaped his notice until now. Those eyes that he'd caught before shining a deep red were lighter, fierier. Glinting at him with menace.

"I refuse. Untie me at once. I shall have you tried and executed for this. That, or I'll simply kill you myself. I'm sure that would be faster than going through the courts."

"You are hardly an agreeable man, Mister Eustass."

"I am sure my fists will be most agreeable with your face after you untie me."

The doctor pursed his lips. He was not irritated with the man's verbal baulking, no, not at all. He had all night. Besides, if he kept prodding away at this man, sooner or later he would get his answers, and the journey to the knowledge would certainly be upon a path of many pleasures.

"Mister Eustass," the doctor began again, "is it not a nice night? The moon is out in full force and the owls are singing haunting songs. Do you know much about owls, Mister Eustass?"

"Are you _really_ that much of a birdman?" the lord asked with a grimace. "First that goose of yours, then penguins, and now _owls_?"

"I only wish to draw a comparison. See, I'm a creature of the night myself. I enjoy sitting up and watching the stars with a nice warm glass of…well, it is a drink few are inclined to indulge in." Trafalgar laughed lightly at himself for digressing. "What I mean to get at is that, like the nocturnal owl who takes in the night with his wide eyes, I do not tire easily when the sun is down. I shall be here until dawn, which is quite a few hours off."

"I'll be quite frank with you, _doctor_; you are a fucking tease of a man."

"Oh, you think highly of me then." The doctor rummaged about in his bag, fingered a few different vials and chemicals, and went back to an old favourite. "Remember our first meeting? Well, I have some more of that serum that taps into the most erotic of places in the brain. Would you like to sample it once more?"

Lord Eustass cringed and tried to scramble away from the doctor, but his legs were sluggish and that one attempt at freedom had left him exhausted. Whatever the doctor injected into his neck had certainly caused his muscles to go lax.

"I didn't feel this bad until now. I felt fine all evening and now I can't even move properly," the lord mused, nearly bemoaning his situation save for the fact that his tone was one of utter vexation. "What the fuck kind of a doctor are you? The doctor of _death_?"

"I am the kind that enjoys making discoveries, Mister Eustass. I find a great deal of people these days are not willing to take extensive measures for the good of the whole. Say one has a fantastic way to cure that plague ravaging certain parts of this world? He should want to test it first, and so needs a subject. You are my subject, but I have no interest in any plague."

Lord Eustass said nothing.

"Tell me of your mother."

"I don't know anything about her. I've been told she disappeared when my father died, not long after I turned seven. Then her corpse showed up near this estate, though I never did get to see it myself." Lord Eustass snorted at the muddled memory that surged forth. He had been just nine years old when that happened, and his governess had been planning to take him out for a walk when she'd discovered the body, rushed inside to tell his grandfather, and toppled over before his eyes. Oh, how she had shrieked nonsense before promptly fainting. It had been incredibly amusing as a child to witness his grandfather's reaction to this fainting business, really.

"You didn't wonder how that came about?"

"Who wouldn't wonder, doctor? Yet I don't care about her – I never knew her."

"Was she human?"

Lord Eustass eyes narrowed, with indignation, Trafalgar realized. "Of course she was human! What else would she be?"

The doctor was about to remark upon the shortcomings of the lord's knowledge with much wit when he was hit by an overwhelming flash of desire. It flushed his skin a light rouge and painted his fingertips a deathly white. The veins along his arms were bluish streaks, through his overcoat hid them from sight. He hadn't eaten lately, and he immediately regretted it for he thought of leaning down and nibbling on his patient.

Oh, he would have to go about this daintily; there was no means to repress this particular craving. The one condition he could not deal with was a demon within a demon.

He grasped his medical rucksack and rummaged about for a clean needle and a vial of a drug that induced sleep. When he located it, he plunged the needle in and drew up a healthy amount, then administered the drug before the lord knew what he was doing in the dark.

Lord Eustass grunted as the point penetrated his wrist, swore at him a few times, but did not strike him. He hadn't the strength.

Dr. Trafalgar sat by with a sleeve cuff over his nose, swallowing frantically to keep his saliva in check and breathing lowly to keep from filling his lungs with a musky scent that would drive him to act in an irrational way. He waited, patient as a dog for a meaty bone. Eventually, Lord Eustass' oaths died off and his body grew flaccid. As soon as he was sure, the doctor lowered his face to the nape of the man's neck and drank in his scent, flooding his internal demon with it for the first time.

It was a sweet, sweet odour, certainly, but it was not entirely a human scent. There were nuances in the smell to suggest human flesh, yet there was an ethereal quality about the skin when he grazed his lips against it.

Whatever it was about this man, it overpowered his common sense. He could not deny that this young lord had the most wonderful fragrance he'd ever had the pleasure of sniffing, but he could also not deny that this scent was eerie and made his heart flutter with worry.

He decided to bite now and weigh the consequences later.

He hardly spent time finding a preferable spot. He just curled his lips back, licked a patch of skin to coat it with numbing saliva, and sank his fangs in. Quickly, as the first trickle slipped around his teeth, he wrapped a gentle hand around the man's neck to keep himself from slipping around whilst locked in bliss.

As the blood touched his tastebuds and sent him into euphoria, he heard a low groan. He was inclined to ignore it, but the groan persisted as he began clenching and releasing his jaw, working the punctures wider. More of the man's life juice coated the back of his throat and slid into his stomach, and he came to the frenzied conclusion that this had to be the most sugary nectar he'd ever indulged in.

It tasted absolutely _delicious_, to put it rather frankly.

He withdrew to lap up some of the sticky sweetness from the man's skin that had missed imprisonment by his lips. He then paused, tongue above the wound, as a wheezing moan reached his ears. He moved back farther, disengaging from his task, and found two red eyes, wide as could be, staring into his very soul.

_Oh, boggarts._

Lord Eustass' mouth was parted as he panted laboriously, seemingly using all of his willpower to stay conscious despite the drugs the doctor had administered to him. His mouth began to move, though no intelligible sound was produced.

Panicking at his animalistic carelessness, the doctor tore his gaze away and swept it down the body of the lord. The moonlight showed a curved shape beneath the cover of a blanket and Dr. Trafalgar recognized the situation as it was.

"You are very aroused," he stated softly, licking warm gore from his lips. Now that he'd had a taste, his wits were sluggishly crawling back to him. "I find it most peculiar. Humans do not do that under the serum of a vampire. They simply wither and die."

He returned his eyes to the lord's face and found no surprise that wasn't already present.

He dropped his mouth to the weeping wound and lapped up the excess he'd drawn before sinking his fangs in once more. He expected either no sound, or the faintest inklings of a scream, yet what progressed through the lord's lips was a long sigh. Almost of contentment.

He continued to drink, his body aching from the angle at which he stooped to get his fill. Finally, despite knowing the lord's eyes were open and he was aware of the sensations of being used, he shimmied onto the bed and situated himself half on top and half to the side of the lord's much bulkier form, easing the uncomfortable curve of his back.

It didn't take long to draw out all he could put away without retching, and when Trafalgar finished he drew back to examine his patient's body once more to find it still stiff with desire.

Precisely what had happened the last time he'd allowed the lord to place a gob of vampire saliva upon his lips. No, more so.

After he covered the pockmarked skin he drew away the blanket from the body. The erection had pushed aside the nightgown. After a moment's deliberation and a glance to the half-lidded eyes of the owner of such an arousal, he took it in his hand and squeezed.

A wicked shudder ripped through the man's body, causing Trafalgar to jump a bit as well. This was abnormal. That the man should even have enough energy to keep his eyes open, let alone spasm, certainly spoke of a strange parentage.

He was impossibly intrigued.

Very slowly he ghosted his palm up and down, gauging the reaction of the one held captive by his ropes. There was mortification in that gaze, sure, yet there was also a genuine inquisitiveness that mirrored the doctor's own. He applied more pressure on the task quite literally in hand, and found that the lord's hips had begun to tremble. He brushed his other hand over the lord's stomach and felt his breathing, then his heart.

He expected it to beat rapidly. The tips of his fingers found a heartbeat that was fast, but it was to the point that Trafalgar feared the heart would give out. He stopped and withdrew to examine the face of the man whose eyes had slid shut wantonly.

Red eyes snapped open, gleaming with an angry challenge.

Despite knowing what was implied in that gaze, Dr. Trafalgar could not allow the young lord to gain leverage on him in any way through illicit action. Whereas demons and whatnot could be laughed off as a silly joke, mandrake relations could be cause for an investigation. Perhaps they would even skip the investigation and simply hoist him up onto a stake, then let him burn.

He withdrew all touch and made to untie the ropes. The man, he believed, was incapacitated. An invalid.

After the ropes were disentangled and put away neatly, the doctor checked the linen he had put on the puncture wound he'd inflicted. He didn't move the man's hands from behind his head, and certainly didn't dare to explore south once more. The linen was bloodied, but had sucked all the moisture from the wound. Yet flakes that would have to be cleaned still clung to the skin of the lord.

He had forgotten a second cloth and a flask of cleansing water. However, he would have had to conceal the bite mark the traditional way regardless of supplies. This man was clearly going to live; he did not need a Caladrius to tell him that much. Others he had feasted on he knew were going to be dressed and buried in a coffin. Those he could get away with a scrap of fabric being tied around a neck on the pretence of some demonic force trying to enter the body of the deceased through an orifice such as a gaping mouth. He had used such petty lies on superstitious humans before.

He lowered his mouth to the dried bits of blood and began to clean the afflicted area, brushing very carefully around the actual puncture points. He knew he had but to coat the wound to heal it by the time dawn arrived on the horizon, but the taste was so enchanting that he administered a cleansing that was excessive enough to close the pockmarks completely.

He did not feel the twitching of lively limbs until it was too late to avoid them.

* * *

**A.N.:** Extra lengthy chapter with what I hope is a healthy dose of Trafalgar-humour! Well, there is officially a lot of somewhat disturbing material in this story…but I think that's what makes it charming.

As always, I am indebted to all my readers! I'm kind of going through a tough spell, and it's always nice to be able to go back and read the positive encouragement you all send me.


	6. Chapter VI

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter VI

* * *

So much in shock was he that the doctor did nothing when the much larger body of Lord Eustass curled and toppled down to the floor on top of him. His legs gave out without a hitch and the pressing weight crushed his body into the floorboards beside the bed. The mattress of which would have been much better suited to his poor back.

He sputtered indignantly into the face scant inches above his own. "Im–im–_impossible_!"

The lord's mouth moved, but as before he made no intelligible comment on their remarkably abnormal situation. Instead, he simply moved his forearms so they covered Dr. Trafalgar's hands, giving him no chance for leverage. He could not even slap some sense into the drugged man.

Then the doctor felt a most peculiar sensation against his clothed thigh. The sensation of skin rubbing up against him. Lord Eustass was positively livid, and not merely with anger.

It showed in the way his snarling lips exposed clenched teeth, and in the way his body rocked and trembled. His eyes, previously so dark and sinister, were now almost an opaque, silky white, the pupils having shrunk to an eighth of their original size.

Dr. Trafalgar resisted the urge to bite into flesh again. The man continued to move against him like a beast in heat, grunting and straining, his tantalizing odour increasing to assault the doctor's sensitive nostrils.

Time ticked by. At last, after what seemed like an eternity in purgatory but what was in actuality scant minutes, the body above shook one final time before going completely limp. Trafalgar panted, his chest trying to lift high enough to get air into his lungs. He was pinned; still, he managed to get his hands free with little difficulty now that the grip around them was lax. Sliding his body out from under the lord was a much more complicated affair that culminated in him kicking and thrashing at the dead weight.

When at length he liberated himself, he leaned back against a wall and caught his breath, fanning air into his nostrils to force the primitive side of himself to focus on something other than the scent of prey. It was absurd, what had come of his innocent taste of the man – if the lord could really be called such. Now more than ever Trafalgar was convinced that the title was a hoax. There was no man that could stand up so intrepidly to his drugs, and not one alive that could stomach even a drop of his serum. Even though the saliva that leaked from his lips was far weaker than the bottled sort that he allowed to sit and putrefy into precipitate, the man should not have been able to act as he had.

Picking himself up, the doctor felt a rather wet spot against his slacks and was appalled to realize he would have to clean the essence of the lord off of him. He rubbed the majority of it out with his piece of bloody linen, then set about to flip the body over. It sapped much of his strength, and he was amazed to see the lord had finally succumbed to his drugging and was blissfully unconscious.

After a moment's deliberation he covered the man with the blanket from the bed and took his leave before he could be tempted to do any more experimentation. He simply needed his space to think over the symptoms of an unknown pedigree.

He exited through a window downstairs. Getting into a home was a problem, but getting out was something he was proficient at. He passed by the stables, stopped, then went back to steal his saddle that he'd left behind during his last visit. He found it in a room filled with tack, along with Bepo's old bridal. He located his beast down by the stream, by this time dried off and amusing himself by rolling pebbles between his massive bearish paws. When Bepo saw the saddle, he changed them to coal black hoofs and straightened up.

Then he sniffed the air surrounding his master.

"_I smell something on you…_"

"A most unfortunate circumstance befell me, Bepo."

"_You smell like another male has mounted and had you_," Bepo snarled, terribly confused.

Trafalgar sighed and rubbed at his sore eyes. Nothing passed by a beast with a powerful nose. "He was quite adamant about pinning me down. He is certainly like no human I've had the pleasure of bedding. But rest assured, my bearish friend, that he did not take me."

He saddled his steed and swung up onto Bepo's back, muscles aching. Perhaps it would be best to take the day off tomorrow. But, alas, he had to put in an appearance at that social gathering of Duchess Jewelry's.

-oOo-

He had forgotten about Duchess Jewelry's event. Even before Lord Portgas met the woman, he resented her for taking him away from Marco's doting presence. He woke up having to reschedule pleasures for a formal social event.

"Marco, my friend, please prepare the tamer of our two horses."

"My Lord, don't you wish to make a noble impression with the phaeton?"

Lord Portgas chuckled, placing a hand over his eyes to conceal their rolling. "That beast of mine can't keep pace with that mare. He's much too wild. The only admirable thing about him hitched to a carriage is how he carries his head high. The bearing rein is thus obsolete for my steed."

Marco quitted the drawing room to saddle the mare and left Lord Portgas to his own devices. The lord had chosen to set up an easel and his paints, regardless of not being able to do the work today. He wanted it to be a constant reminder to his valet that he was indeed quite excited to get on with it, brushes at the ready in his hand.

"The horse has been prepared for you, my Lord," Marco said upon his return. Lord Portgas bid him a polite farewell, lingering longer in the doorway than could be deemed necessary, and then departed.

The mare was slow moving and certainly not the most graceful of creatures, and when he arrived at the estate of Duchess Jewelry he found more people than he thought in attendance. His presence was all but forgotten and his horse attended to by a stable hand.

He slunk through the crowds. Had he known it was going to be a ball of this magnitude, he wouldn't have given his ascent to come. As it was, he was here already and needed to greet his host with all the civilities that the occasion entailed.

First, however, Dr. Trafalgar found him with a wry smile and a glass of wine.

"Drink this for me, would you?" he asked of his friend. "A servant forced it upon me, I suspect by threats issued by Miss Jewelry, and you know I can't stomach this fermented ick."

Lord Portgas took the glass and angled it bottom up. When he was finished he set the glass down on a nearby ledge and blinked at all the splendour of the mansion belonging to the Duchess. All of a sudden everything was brighter, grander, and his nose picked up a multitude of scents too numerous to categorize. "This is a impressive place, full of delicious smelling food."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself. Miss Jewelry encourages gluttony, as you may have heard."

"What are you insinuating, Trafalgar?

"Nothing, nothing at all, Portgas."

They gradually made their way across one room and into the next, moving through the crowds of people whenever an opening arose. Many times Lord Portgas was stopped by a friendly exclamation of surprise. People were eager to meet the newly settled lord, and some of his oldest acquaintances from when he was but a boy gaped at his growth and maturity. He was made the associate of many, though whether he could remember their details later was an entirely different matter.

After choosing to dance with a fair young woman who ogled him, testing out his theory that his desires lay not with bosoms but with someone his equal in biological makeup, Lord Portgas reclined on a sofa. He was content to observe his friend stepping in line with a few different women, spinning each one off of his arm before catching another. It was absolutely ludicrous how well that man deceived the hearts and eyes set upon him. The charming smile, never absent from his face for long, and his dark eyes drew people in.

Before enough time had passed to invite boredom, a woman with a curtain of flowing ebony hair approached him. "Lord Portgas," she said by way of greeting.

"Robin! I had thought you'd quitted Sabaody altogether," the lord responded with surprise.

"Not yet. I'm still in the process of… deciding a few things of utmost importance. Hasn't the good doctor informed you?"

"He hasn't spoken a word of you yet, my dear. And as for whether or not he could really be termed 'good' is a debatable matter."

Robin elegantly sat herself down beside him on the sofa, smoothing out her shimmering black dress. The eyes of many women in the room without partners narrowed at her. "Mr. Zoro tells me he is quite acquainted with that headstrong brother of yours, Monkey D. Luffy, the scourge of the navy. I had not known that before meeting Mr. Zoro."

"Oh? Luffy?"

Robin smiled as his interest shifted from merely listening to her words as he stared at the festivities to gracing her with his full attention.

"He's gathering his crew. I plan on joining him. So far he has a mason who happens to be experienced with shipbuilding, a musician, Mister Zoro for his First Mate, and a petty thief who may very well be lurking in this manor gathering jewels for the voyage ahead. We also seek a cook, but that is why I am in attendance tonight. Following a trail of rumours about a chef with more talent than the best in France has led me to a certain Mr. Blackleg, whom I understand is employed by the duchess to cater to her every whim and desire."

"Well, then," Lord Portgas muttered with a low whistle. "The best of luck to you all. Send my brother by, if it is at all possible. I know he can sometimes…attract unwanted attention from both the militia and navy, and I don't fancy a meeting with that old vice-admiral, Garp."

"You have a history with him?" Miss Nico enquired politely.

Lord Portgas laughed mirthfully. Those that knew him at the duchess' get-together knew him from his relationship to Garp, the man who sporadically took part in his upbringing. "Oh, we do have a history, if it can be called that. He and I are at our wits end with one another. It is not something I enjoy discussing."

"I see. The same holds true for Luffy, though he handles it all with the greatest humour." Robin gracefully rose to her feet and curtsied. "Well, Ace, I daresay this _may_ be the last you see of me, unless the good doctor puts on a tea party as he occasionally endeavours to do. Farewell and good luck in your efforts with your valet."

Lord Portgas startled but could not form coherent thoughts to share before Robin waltzed away in a swath of black fabric, disappearing into the crowd of nobles and flushed servants. He settled when he realized that it was likely that his friend had informed her idly during tea, not aware that he wished to keep the matter hushed.

He set out to find Trafalgar, intending to make his friend simmer under fiery words, and found him near a group of dignitaries that were gawped at by almost everyone in the room. He thought it would be indecorous to simply appear in front of the party without having been formally introduced, but the lady of the manor caught his eye and brightened considerably, starting for him instead.

He remained where he was as the duchess strode up in a pink, green, and white gown that sparkled in the candlelight of overhead chandeliers. Atop her head was a rather – in Lord Portgas' opinion, which certainly never amounted to much when it came to fashion – _unflattering _headdress. It was turban in nature and certainly looked out of place for the occasion. Not that he would slip this up in conversation.

"You must be Mr. Gol, head of the Gol estate," she stated cheerily as she stopped in front of him and curtsied. Her group straggled behind, whispering amongst themselves, highly curious about her attentiveness to a broad-shouldered man most had never seen around before.

"Portgas, in all actuality," the lord replied tersely. He remembered her letters, and how they had addressed him wrongly. He just thought it would be too rude to correct her in writing. It was better done in person. "I am indeed the lord residing at the Gol estate."

"Oh," she coloured a bit, but recovered just as quick. "Well, either way I welcome you to Sabaody, Mr. Portgas. I hope you're finding everything… _exquisite_."

The lord did not miss the flutter of eyelashes in his direction. He almost let out an audible scoff at the flirtatious behaviour of this woman, but he was distracted by all those who were trailing her, Trafalgar included.

"This is Bege A. Capone," she said next of a portly man who was smoking a thick cigar. His suit was the colour of ash and his eyes were seedy, and the lord guessed that his personality was likewise. "He manages the cavalry units and infantry in Sabaody's militia, and holds a fortress to the west of here in Elbafshire. I believe he has other duties, but he won't tell a soul." She giggled, but Lord Portgas could guess at her irritation with the man, whom so obviously was not a favourite acquaintance of hers. The only reason the lord could conceive that she'd introduced him first was to scorn him in an artful manner.

He nodded politely at the man, who glared evenly back at him and did not stay to wait for the other introductions to be made, politely excusing himself from the premises.

"My dearest friend, Mr. Hawkins, is quite fond of playing cards. Aren't you, Basil?"

The man in question, a stately fellow who appeared aloof and above all that was going on in the material world, looked down at the duchess with quietly expressed dissatisfaction at her words. Then he shifted his mellowed eyes to the lord in front of him. "I am a great believer in cartomancy, Lord Portgas. Perhaps you will attend a session with me later in the evening, or at the earliest convenience to you. The cards say…" the man pulled a deck of tarot cards from his pocket, shuffled them, and drew one. "They say it would be most beneficial to your health."

Lord Portgas murmured that he would, with no intention of going through with the arrangement. He got an ominous ambiance from Mr. Hawkins that he did not want to pursue even in the privacy of his thoughts. There was something otherworldly about him that Portgas regarded as a warning flag. No doubt the vampire standing adjacent to him felt it as well.

The introductions were halted when a servant attempted to scurry past with a dish of delectable cheeses and meats. The duchess cried out and bid the servant to stop with the most demanding and irritable tone Lord Portgas had ever heard. The lord caught the eye of his friend, who merely smirked and lowered his gaze to avoid bursting into gales of laughter.

Duchess Jewelry passed the dish about, offering the cheese and meat cuts, but everyone declined. Lord Portgas found this bizarre and followed their example, even though his stomach cried out fiercely. Soon he was witness to an empty tray.

Ah. That was what Trafalgar had meant by gluttony within the household.

"This is the local physician and surgeon, Trafalgar Law. He is something of a pompous fool and undesirable company with–"

"We are well acquainted," the doctor interjected. The duchess blinked indignantly and physically waved his words off with the back of her pale hand. Already he could tell his friend was not favoured by the duchess, but merely tolerated and likely kept around for appearances only. After all, the noblewomen who were responsible to keep the duchess' status high admired the elegance and propriety of the doctor.

"No matter. Have you met Admiral X. Drake?" Lord Portgas turned his attention to a sour-faced man with a scar in the shape of crossed blades on his chin. Drake appeared composed and entirely serious, with a sharp eye for details. Yet, Lord Portgas felt he was perhaps the only one in the group that would get along with both himself and Trafalgar. It was a strange feeling that was likely owed to their mutual naval background. Drake nodded at him politely, but refrained from speaking more than a few obligatory words.

The party soon dispersed further when both Hawkins and Drake moved off, and Lord Portgas found himself in the company of only the doctor and duchess. It was clear from the signals the duchess sent to Trafalgar that she wanted him gone as well, yet the doctor wasn't about to abandon something that could turn into an amusing spectacle.

"Mr. Portgas, is this not a sensational event?" Jewelry asked of him, looking around at a few dancing couples with a smile.

He murmured his concurrence with her, but it was the doctor that leaned in to his friend at the first opportunity to say, "It is positively _staid_, wouldn't you agree?"

As soon as the duchess turned to snatch another plate of food and shovel it down her bulging gullet, Lord Portgas muttered back that it was, indeed, a rather trite affair they had mistakenly chosen to attend.

"Tell me, Mr. Portgas, do you have an interest in hunting? My grounds are open for your pleasure, should you choose to pay me a visit."

"I have no interest in hunting," the lord returned.

"Fishing, perhaps?"

"None whatsoever," the lord lied. Beside him, Trafalgar snickered and absently picked Bepo's white fur from his black garb.

"Perhaps you ought to ask him if he wishes to spend time with y–"

The duchess immediately interrupted the doctor. "Trafalgar, would you be a dear and fetch me some wine from that servant across the room? I'm quite thirsty."

A twitch of the eyebrow was all the lord could see of Trafalgar's irritation at been ordered around like a common servant, and the lord was sure that the man would not agree to it. However, he seemed to see greater amusement could come of leaving Lord Portgas in the company of the duchess, and dolefully removed himself with a smirk that rapidly encompassed the lower regions of his face.

When he was out of earshot and pursued doggedly by noblewomen who'd been awaiting an opening to his attentions, the duchess moved in closer to the lord and placed herself in an intimate position, close to his shoulder. "Mr. Portgas, is it true of your servitude in the navy?"

"It is certainly true, though I'd sooner like to deny it."

She pursed her lips, recognizing the touchy subject, and took the conversation elsewhere. They spoke at length of the room, its occupants, the food and drink, yet all of the lord's answers were short and wearied. However, the duchess was in no way deterred.

At last, Lord Portgas asked bluntly, "Duchess, what have I done to earn your cloying affections?"

She appeared shocked at his frankness, but her recovery was swift. "I only wish to make you feel comfortable in Sabaody! I assume you don't know a great many people here, and I can introduce you to _anyone_ in the room–"

She continued speaking, but Lord Portgas had cut off her voice from his ears to stare at some fixed point behind her. It was a painting that had caught his attention, an oil of a full-rigged vessel sailing on a multitude of waves as rugged as a mountain range.

"That painting," he interrupted suddenly as she was going on about dukes and duchesses to the south of Sabaody, "is it of the famous _Moby Dick_?"

She stuttered incoherently, positively miffed by his words, then spun and regarded the work done up in oils. "Oh? You know of the _Moby Dick_? Of the infamous and wonderful Whitebeard?"

Lord Portgas shrugged his shoulders, having never intended to go into a conversation with her. "I have heard of his endeavours to cut off slavers and take people from the plantations to places across the sea where they wouldn't be thrown into forced labour. I'm more interested in the painting as an article, however. Would you be willing to part with it? I shall pay your asking price, whatever it shall be."

Jewelry Bonney pursed her rouged lips. "Oh, I don't believe I can sell that. It is an irreplaceable piece."

"That is a shame," Lord Portgas said with due disappointment that he could see made the duchess' skin crawl with discontent. "I would have loved to own it."

"I have many paintings within this house. Perhaps you'd like to take a tour with me," the duchess offered, brightening at her own ingenious suggestion.

He shook his head. "I am afraid only that one's content interests me."

Now he was agitating her nerves. She looked between him and the painting she was so fond of, and at last relented. "It's not often that a guest of mine is interested in _that_ painting…if you would truly like to own it, then perhaps I could soften my heart enough to allow you to have it. Are you still interested?"

Lord Portgas blinked at her, and forced a smile onto his face. Originally, he had planned to buy the painting for Marco, as he could see even from afar it was a work by the artist Silvers Rayleigh, whose paintings dominated the room Marco favoured most. Now he was unsure that getting involved in any way with the glutton would be wise.

Yet the painting called to him in a way he was unable to explain and made him answer, "I am still entirely interested in it, yes."

The reaffirm of the former offer encouraged the duchess, and she marched him up to the painting, taking his arm snugly as if intending to never let him go. She said, "Consider it yours. I'll have it _personally _delivered to your estate. You can expect me in two days' time. I have business until then to attend to. Please, do not worry about paying a cent, consider it _my_ _pleasure_."

It took two hours and an enticing platter of roasted goose to loosen Duchess Jewelry's grip on his arm so he could make his escape.

-oOo-

After Trafalgar had his fun laughing from afar as Lord Portgas bumbled his way through conversation with the duchess, he retired to the gardens outside the home. The peace allowed by a lack of bodies and their various scents was soothing. He could still hear the pianist's music drifting out the windows, but the conversations had collectively dulled and were no more than a droll under the sweet notes.

It was strolling here in the gardens that he noticed a wave of red streaking through the duchess' fields. He squinted and made out a man on the back of a muscled bay charger. He knew who it was instantly and placed himself on display by sitting candidly near a fountain on the seat of a painted wicker bench.

The bay horse was redirected sharply and spurred in his direction.

He didn't move as it galloped up, frothing at the mouth from the hard run it had been subjected to. Lord Eustass dismounted amide the tired attempts of the horse to put additional distance between itself and both men. With more force than was needed, he guided his beast to a sturdy post and securely tied down the bridle's reins. The charger, a magnificently bred stallion, could barely lift its head high enough to give a tug to its binds.

"I'm afraid you've either broken that horse's wind or have come damnably close," the doctor commented as the lord stalked up with a sour expression on his face.

"I have not forgotten what it was that you did last night," Eustass informed him with a growl that agitated his steed that was a few paces off now, dancing on the tips of its hooves. As the lord came up to stand a few feet away from Trafalgar, he continued, "Nor have I revoked my earlier assertions to killing you."

"I am surprised you are fit to ride much less trot about like a pompous wolfhound guarding a castle," the doctor continued, ignoring the man's words in favour of watching the terrified horse. "I must make note of that when I return home."

"Don't denigrate me," snarled the lord, rage contorting the muscles in his neck. "Aren't you in the least afraid of being destroyed, _bloodsucker_? Do the people inside know what you _are_?"

"They do not. But I dare say they wouldn't believe _you _anyway – some man who has suddenly appeared with no prior credentials, only the temperament of a bull surrounded by cows in heat." He watched the lord's skin darken in shade with anger, and chose to further his assault. "I cannot help but notice that you are wary of engaging me. Prior to this, you were much more assertive. Are you worried of my insatiable appetite, or your own?"

Heavy breathing suppressing angry words was to be his answer.

"Mister Eustass, I am quite through analyzing you for your grandfather. You are an incurable beast. Won't you be a dear boy and tell him I won't be coming by to see you anymore?"

"That man is dead."

This genuinely surprised Dr. Trafalgar. "Really now? And when did this happen?"

Dark red eyes gleamed at him and a smile appeared on the lord's face. "Funny you should ask that, _doctor_." The word was spat, literally, upon the dirty ground. "It happened quite accidentally in a fit of absolute delirium that I believe was brought about by _your_ drugs."

Trafalgar gulped as the implications became clear to him. "_You_ killed him?"

A laugh. Deeper and darker than the Boin forest during the witching hour. "I have a murderous desire. From this, my elder has been trying to protect himself…but last night you unleashed a beastly intimation for death. Only _you_ can be to blame, not I."

"I shall vehemently argue that declaration."

After a few seconds, Lord Eustass appeared thoughtful rather than murderous. "I feel I should thank you, however. His presence was rather vexatious. He was old, yet he just_ wouldn't die_."

Trafalgar continued to stare, turning over the consequences of his late night visit that had ended in a death after all of his meticulous plotting to assure otherwise. He kept his eyes firmly fixed upon the lord in front of him who stood with his hands shoved into a furred coat that made him appear twice as large as usual, and noticed that there was a peculiar aura coming off of Lord Eustass, now the only master of the Eustass estate. Something that had not been there before in his composure was at now present and thriving.

"There is a portentous quality to this meeting between you and I that I cannot even begin to comprehend," Dr. Trafalgar said smoothly despite his unease. "What _really _brings you to me, Mister Eustass?"

The pause was not extensive. "The nature of our last meeting."

"I had not intended to feast on you, though it was a delightful experience up until your nearly comatose body landed upon mine."

"That was your own damned fault and I take no responsibility for it." He narrowed his eyes at the doctor, and the straining veins in his forehead stood out starkly, the light catching his visible ire. "I command you, by some means, to retract the attraction I have for you at once."

This put Trafalgar's eyebrows up to his hairline. "What? An attraction?"

"_The drug_. Don't play coy, you worthless, demonic fuck. It still afflicts me and I fully realize I cannot kill you until you give me the cure," Lord Eustass continued, impatient. "After all, it's hard to know whether curses will come out of killing you when I'm weakened like _this_." His fingers were removed from the pockets of his coat and he occupied himself by clenching them into a fist, stretching them out, and then repeating the process. Extremely volatile movements, Trafalgar noted with dry humour.

Slowly the doctor opened his mouth, then closed it, allowing himself an additional minute to think his words through before they reached the ears of one so quick to excite into violence. The purpose of the drug he administered by needle had been to induce a state of lethargy in his patient, not sexual arousal. Yet it seemed the man had decided the latter was what afflicted him presently.

Very carefully, Dr. Trafalgar said, "I am not the one at fault here."

Nostrils flared.

"Don't try my bloody patience, _doctor_. It's wearing thin as it is."

"What's stopping you from attacking me then?" the doctor asked coquettishly. He had a few guesses, one of which stood out amongst the rest. "Is it because you are _afraid _that what your body may want from me will overpower what your mind desires? Are you _afraid_ of repeating your illicit actions from last night? Hmm?"

Dr. Trafalgar did not know why he was getting so much pleasure from seeing Lord Eustass squirm; he did know, however, that the second the lord snapped all pleasure drained away from his face only to be replaced by a sudden feeling of terror.

He tried to bolt, knowing that he could likely outrun the lord, but his uptake was sluggish. He only got as far as the fountain when the man launched his bearish body at him, tackling his back, and sending them both over the mottled rock wall into surprisingly deep water.

Trafalgar, gasping as the wind was knocked from his lungs, took in mouthfuls of stale water whilst he sunk with a heavy body atop him. Clawed fingers were ripping into the wet fabric of his coat, tearing it away, and he surfaced coughing and choking all at once. A hand was on his neck with killing intent, and another was compressing his chest, preparing to crush ribs. Their grapple continued above the waterline and his back was thrown up upon the marble decal in the center of the fountain, a naked woman bearing her front proudly. Amid blinding pain he thrashed and kicked, but the lord was livid and any attempts to disengage him were petty compared to the attempts to dismember his squirming body.

Trafalgar howled, extremely displeased to the point of being angry. The emotion was ludicrous. He was never _angry_. Anger was something of a weakness, a lack of control. He was not weak. He would remain _calm_. Use his learned intelligence.

Both bodies shifted as Trafalgar slid down the curve of the marble woman's physique, and Lord Eustass let go of the doctor's neck to grab for his chest, hoping to pin him again lest he gain control of his feet. But Trafalgar was already in motion, clutching the back of the lord's head, fingers twisting in that lion's mane of red. He yanked that head back, exposing all of the lord's thick neck to his open mouth and bared fangs.

He forced himself to stomach the taste of stale fountain water as he bit down on the skin of Lord Eustass' windpipe, breaking into it smoothly with his powerful jaw.

Blood flowing freely now, all hell broke loose in the fountain.

* * *

**A.N.:** Traffy, when is it ever a good idea to bite a madman?

Anyways, the beginning was odd, and we have some characters everyone recognizes introduced in this chapter. They will come back, but not until later.

As always, thank you all for the wonderful reviews! They really do make my day (they are such pick-me-ups on those days when I think everything is going horribly, haha). :)


	7. Chapter VII

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter VII

* * *

Trafalgar held on with his teeth as Lord Eustass bellowed and tried to rip him off of his neck. The thrashing was accompanied by a falling sensation, but only when Eustass slipped and smashed his back against the ledge of the fountain did Trafalgar feel it, jarring his grip loose. He could not repress an erratic coughing fit, spraying a few frothy drops of blood back onto the pale skin of the lord's neck.

That fresh, delicate scent. He groaned as it assaulted his nose and brought cravings to the forefront of his thoughts.

Lord Eustass' eyes were a light red, almost entirely washed out, when they locked gazes. He appeared positively demonic, and Trafalgar was more certain than ever that the man wasn't a mere human.

He was not given ample chance to debate with himself about whether to drink or flee. Eustass seized his shoulders and held him in place, grunting as the water splashed violently out of its keep around them. "_You bastard,_" he spat.

"_You _bastard," Trafalgar spat right back at him. A few more drops of blood were sent sailing only to cling desperately to their original master's cheeks. It was a childish thing to proclaim, perhaps, but fitting.

They came to a stalemate, hands on each other in such ways as to block both of them from gaining the upper hand. Trafalgar was gripping Eustass' shoulders, and he slyly ran one hand towards the neck of his victim. The blood was weeping, disappearing under the thick, furred coat. Wasted.

He nearly let out a dejected whine.

Someone else beat him to it.

Trafalgar pressed his fingers down into the pockmarks, trying to curb the bleeding. The moment his fingers touched the skin, the lord below him that he was awkwardly straddling let out a groan that made Trafalgar jerk away. For some reason or other, that hand went straight to his lips, and he made no attempt to stop his tongue from darting out and licking the blood from his fingers.

The lord watched him, entranced and still.

His pupils shifted. Shrunk. Disappeared.

Crossing his arms across his chest for protection was all Trafalgar had time to do as the lord lunged for him. He was grabbed by the sides of his bare hips, the fabric covering him having ridden up in their struggle. The fingers were brutal and unforgiving in their ferocity. They bruised and dragged him along, depositing him outside of the fountain. The lord scrambled over the ledge and landed on his chest, pinning him down without the irritation of the water.

Panting and wondering if he was going to die a death befitting of a beggar, Trafalgar tried his best to struggle out of the bonds Eustass imposed on him. His progress was hindered by the words the lord was using to provoke him.

"You fucker! This is what I mean! How can you explain _this_?" At _this_, the lord grabbed one of Trafalgar's flailing wrists and twisted it so it fit between the tight space of their bodies. Trafalgar sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers touched the abrasive fabric of the man's breeches, and found the rotund shape he was palming was what the man spoke of.

"I'm certain that if you let me up, I would be able to explain this fully and comprehensibly so that even a wanton brute such as yourself would understand."

A dark aura struck Trafalgar then and he realized that the lord was looking down at him with a sudden absence of rage. There was a sinister thoughtfulness in his expression, a malicious curiosity.

"Maybe I should bite you back. See what happens," the lord mused, a twisted smile working its way into the curve of his mouth. "Hmm, _bloodsucker_?"

"I prefer the frank but orthodox term _vampire_, should you wish to refer to my species in my presence," Dr. Trafalgar said, barely able to conceal his anxiety. He didn't like the mischievous gleam that had appeared in the whites of Eustass' hollow eyes. The glazed over look of a madman never was good luck to anyone.

Before he could conceive an idea of how to get out of this predicament, Trafalgar found that Eustass had a wry sense of humour. He had his neck bitten, and the sensation that he'd often idly pondered about – what getting impaled with teeth would actually feel like – was finally revealed to him.

He screamed and growled, cursed and snarled. Still, the rational part of him knew that teeth sinking into his flesh was better than the alternative of getting his neck snapped in two. He did not doubt for a second the strength of the lord. The mostly one-sided battle had revealed it.

The lord withdrew after only a taste, a gory waterfall gushing from his mouth. Red streams fell from his chin back towards its master. Surprisingly, Trafalgar's only thought was that the man's technique was awful. Calling him on it, his next thought, was dismissed as stupidity.

"_You drink this_?" the lord wondered incredulously, mouth curling into a sneer of disgust. Bits of red dribbled onto Trafalgar's cheeks. How he wished he could wipe them away with the cuff of his sopping wet coat.

"I never have had the pleasure of drinking my own damn blood," Trafalgar growled, sarcasm clear. His neck throbbed, making his words raspy so that his pain was evident.

The lord's sneer twisted into a malicious grin. "Really? Then why don't you have a taste?"

Before the doctor could throw his face to the side and weather the attack with his dirtied cheek, Lord Eustass's bloodied lips were upon his, brutally ravaging him. A finger was inserted into the corner of his mouth, between his teeth, and he should have liked to bite Eustass' tongue clean off had it not been for the restraint of a locked jaw.

He fully expected the lord to pull back with a bloodcurdling laugh and spit saliva into his face, but the torturous kiss lingered far longer than what could be deemed a malevolent act. The taste of his own blood was perhaps the vilest thing he'd ever had in his mouth, yet the saliva exuded from the lord was enough to wash the taste out. Perhaps it was not so much the act but the scent of what lay beneath sugary flesh ripe for harvest so near to his fangs, lips upon his that were sweeter than any women he'd kissed that brought about this strange feeling of elation he was now experiencing. It could have also been the fleshy, wet tongue swirling around his most dangerous assets that did it. He knew, however, that it could not have been just one single thing that aroused him.

When the lord pulled away, the doctor saw that his pupils had reappeared. The element of lunacy still lingered, yet he appeared much calmer than before. A shifting of fabric drew his attention to the bulge in the slacks of the lord, still disposed for unlawful action.

The doctor experienced a shift in perspective that made him chuckle at himself.

Trafalgar began rubbing up against the lord with his hips, adventurous adrenaline pumping through his veins. He'd had men before. But they were not so much men as they were victims. The thrill of not being able to kill this…_beastly thing, _as easily as a normal mortal, excited him into quite a state.

His one free hand went to the back of Eustass' head, but it was slammed down to the brickwork beneath to join the other almost immediately. Without saying a word, the lord rose off of Trafalgar's body, eyes once again becoming white, fiery balls of barely repressed anger. While Trafalgar observed that his end could be very near indeed, his skull perhaps crushed under the heel of this man, the lord startled him by backing away to his horse.

The animal resisted until the man looked it in one of its coal black eyes, then the beast submitted docilely out of what Trafalgar guessed was fear.

The doctor scrambled to stand and, like Lord Eustass, casually fled the moment, going to the wicker bench he'd been sitting on when the man arrived. He wiped the blood from his face and neck with a black handkerchief embroidered with yellow trim that he kept in his pocket. From a distance he called out: "That was rather disappointing, Mister Eustass. Here I thought we were going to go somewhere exquisite with our bodies' desires."

Lord Eustass mounted and wickedly swung his charger around by a yank to the reins. "I won't let you lure me in again, _bloodsucker_."

With that, the bay was spurred into a gallop, and Trafalgar watched the red hair disappear into the shimmering emerald fields beyond the duchess' gardens.

-oOo-

The day following the duchess' banquet found Lord Portgas lounging in a drawing room after breakfast. Though his mind bubbled with excitement, he was waiting patiently for the arrival of his valet. However, his patience was frayed to breaking point.

At last Marco came in, announcing: "There are several letters for you, my Lord."

"Put them on the desk over there. I'll read them later."

Marco obeyed and deposited his catch on the mahogany wood of the desk. "Do you wish me to prepare some tea? Coffee perhaps?"

"I wish only for you to sit for me. Now," Lord Portgas said, impatient to get on with it. He could only endure so much waiting and idling about.

The lord rose from his chair and strode over to the man, whose form grew rigid as he knew not where to go or what to do. The lord did not dare to touch him, even gently upon the arm, for fear of setting himself off with an electric current of lust. "Remove your tails, please. I wish to capture the crux of human form. Too much fabric will conceal it."

Hesitantly, Marco undid the buttons of his coat and removed it. The lord's gentle smile was dazzling, so much so that it was nearly impossible to move his eyes away long enough to drop his coat upon a nearby chair. He was left in his dark slacks and white collared shirt.

The lord's fingers pointed him to a pale long chaise. "Sit there. I won't ask you to take off your shirt. I don't want you to catch a chill or anything of the sort."

This partially eased Marco and he slowly reclined on the chaise, unsure of whether he ought to pose himself or wait for the lord to do so. He assumed the latter, and sure enough he was given elaborate descriptions to which he obeyed. He was truly to lounge, with one arm over the top of the chaise. It was, perhaps, a nobleman's position. In that way it felt quite strange to Marco.

"Be honest with me, my friend. Does it feel natural? Will you be sore after only an hour?"

"No," Marco replied immediately, "I won't be sore. But I must confess that it does feel somewhat unnatural for someone of my rank to–"

"Nonsense. We'll crop that thought there," Lord Portgas interrupted. He was in no mood to talk rank with his valet.

He gathered brushes in hand and readied his paint, then lay down a wash of colour on his canvas to block in the shapes in front of his eyes. He was painting a rather small portrait, as he did not want Marco to become overly sore and ruin his chances for further sessions. There was enough space for details, however, and the lord set out at once to contrive them. He wished to capture a perfect likeness of his valet, something for him to look upon later and feel an enormous sense of relief from his cravings.

After a half hour in which the lord worked silently bringing in details around the room and on Marco's body, he decided the silence was overbearing.

"I usually paint on a caprice. A whim. I'm glad you chose to oblige me so soon, because the mood often passes quickly and without painting I often fear I may lose my touch."

Marco shifted the tiniest bit at the sound of his lord's smooth voice. "Oh," was all he managed, deeming it impolite for a servant of any sort to acknowledge thanks from his master. He had always, when praised, redirected it as modestly as he could.

"I am deeply obliged," the lord repeated, wondering what he ought to say next. He painted the dark curtains behind the chaise, which made the blond of his valet's hair stand out starkly like the first star to appear in the night sky.

"It is my pleasure," murmured Marco.

"No, I do believe it's mine," the lord whispered, inaudible to Marco's ears. He was mindful of the first stirrings of arousal, and took care to examine his subject with some degree of detachment. He took short glances at Marco and sweeping looks at his inanimate painting.

It was in this state of aloofness that he noticed an inordinate artistic error in his work.

The white of the chaise upon which Marco lounged was nearly identical to the white of the man's shirt. The whites bled into one another, making it hard to distinguish between the two. The lord could use harsh grey shadows between them, but to do so would mean to darken every aspect of the painting, which would be tedious and likely unsuccessful. The mood of the piece would surely change, and that was simply unacceptable.

"Marco, I have just made light of a distressing dilemma," the lord said, dropping his current brush into a jar of muddy water and wiping his hands on a cloth. As quickly and simply as he could, he explained the problem, and was mightily surprised when it was not he who suggested its solution.

"Is it too late to remove my shirt? If the problem is too much white, I'm sure my skin tone will even things out," he said, a shy blush rising into his cheeks. The lord assumed a similar redness, though his was derived of different emotions. He flushed for the chance at seeing Marco half-bare before him while his valet flushed for the darkness of his skin. A tan was the most basic mark of a servant or, as he had been in his youth, a slave.

"Only if you are willing and it is not a great discomfort to you."

Marco was already taking off his shirt. It was obvious he considered it a service, which made the lord ever more uncomfortable.

When it was off and bunched in Marco's hands instead, the lord instantly noticed the crude mark upon the man's chest. It was a cross of sorts, with a sweeping curve through the middle. His valet did not seem conscious of it, leading the lord to believe it had been there for too long to be mindful of.

He did not think it wise to question any sort of mark on a man, especially one that had led a life in service to others, and so chalked it up to a religious marking and nothing more for the safety of them both.

Regardless of Lord Portgas' discomfort, they continued after he asked Marco to drape the shirt over the top of the chair, where the wood decals were a dark brown. He painted that first, to calm his shuddering nerves, and then returned his eyes to Marco's body. Here his brush froze and trembled.

He observed Marco from behind his easel for a few minutes longer than normal, and the difference was marked by Marco questioning whether he had moved too far out of place.

"No, you're…" the lord trailed off as his mind presented two alternatives. He chose the safer of the two. "I'm simply pondering how to mix a certain colour. You have a radiance I want to capture. Your colours, I mean."

Irritated by himself, the lord hid behind his painting, and continued to perfect it. The portrait was finished within the hour, and he couldn't help but notice the slight nuances where he'd let sloppy brushwork go unattended. Yet he was tired and fed up with his alterations, believing that he'd never fully capture the beauty that lounged in front of his eyes.

He called Marco up to see it, as it was only fair for his model, and was privy to emotions on Marco's features that he'd never seen before. He observed the grateful shine in his eyes, the genuine curve of a smile, and the subtle slouching of his shoulders that told of his relaxed state. Total relaxation in the lord's presence was something he hadn't seen yet from Marco.

For that alone he could smile as if highly accomplished.

"It's quite beautiful," Marco said, his quiet voice showcasing his awe. "You've captured my likeness perfectly. I cannot even fathom the excellence of this portrait…"

For the first time it seemed, and only with the help of the painting, his valet noticed upon his chest the mark, which the lord had written off as a symbol of his religious values. Lord Portgas watched him pale and his shoulders tense.

"Will you display this somewhere?" Marco asked shyly.

"It is not to be seen by anyone but myself," replied the lord. "It is practice and exercise, not destined for exhibition."

"That is just as well."

Before the lord could work up the nerve to ask Marco what it was that got him into this state of distress, Marco excused himself on account of needing to attend to the horses in the stable. Apparently they hadn't gotten their troughs filled with hay this morning, even though the lord was certain Marco did it every morning not long after waking up.

Lord Portgas was left wondering when he ought to get more servants, as the excuses for his valet were numerous and cumbersome.

-oOo-

That night, Lord Portgas stood naked in his bedchamber, scrutinizing his work by candlelight.

He could not figure out what change would capture the spirit of his valet, and it irked him to a degree that almost made him want to take a knife to the canvas. He refrained on the sole excuse that it was a work that pictured someone he intimately cared for. Though he had yet to know the depth of the emotion, a part of him knew his fondness for the man ran deep into his core. He could not ruin the painting without stabbing a wound into his own chest.

Lord Portgas sighed and clothed himself in a dressing gown. He was too heated to be chilly, even though the tiles of his bedroom were cool to the touch of his bare toes, and yet the clothing was necessary. He found he could no longer stay in his room staring at a mere _likeness _of Marco, trying to discover a spirit, and knowing that the spirit could only be found attached to the person in question.

He ignored the bells of the clock and made his way downstairs earlier than what he'd normally deem safe. He simply could not wait longer. He located Marco's chamber and pried the door loose, then stepped inside, trying not to produce any sound.

The light, regular breathing of slumber reassured him. He carefully picked his way across the floor to the bed and peered down through the darkness, his demonic eyes already adjusted to take in every colour that would normally be seen under the influence of the sun.

He allowed passionate attachment that he'd denied himself earlier while painting. The wash of emotions that coated his senses overwhelmed him and he was picking away at the blankets surrounding his valet without thinking of the consequences of his actions. He revealed a tanned shoulder and neck, the skin disappearing under Marco's night garb.

A shudder ripped through him not unlike being hit by a frigid breeze off a lake. His demonic desire was rearing its ugly head, and he felt the innate need to climb atop this man and mould his body against every surface. There was something about mortals in such a prone position, lying down fast asleep, that excited his ingrained predatory traits. Only he did not wish to maim and kill. He wished to caress and press himself securely against this warm body. Kiss and lick his skin. To hold Marco close and be a barrier between him and anything that wished him harm.

And, of course, be with him in the most intimate of embraces.

These thoughts troubled his conscience, and the pull this man had on his subconscious made it difficult but necessary to extract himself from the room. He put the covers back over Marco and then put distance between them, returning to his room where he covered the painting with a sheet and forced himself into bed.

He used his mind to recall certain images from their shared afternoon, and managed to release some of his tension, but he could never completely sate himself using only his hand and imagination. It was impossible for an incubus to do so, as it went profoundly against their very nature.

-oOo-

With Robin gone off to greater places with her tiger-man, whose fur had returned to normal in every place but the top of his head, Dr. Trafalgar was left to his relatively empty abode. Shachi had taken his Caldrius down to the market in Grove 52 as company, as Trafalgar had tasked him with the replenishment of their fish stock. Bepo was off hunting, something he usually did when Trafalgar expressed his aversion to seeing his patients. Well, victims.

As a result, he was left all alone and bored rigid.

So uninterested was he with his duties in town that he sharpened his sword, an old nodachi that was often mistaken for a walking stick. It looked like nothing of the sort, yet he supposed people were not accustomed to seeing such long, decorative swords carried quite the way he did, or thought that there wasn't any point to a doctor carrying one. Besides, he mostly carried it on adventures through the Boin forest where people were loath to traverse. He kept the sword for his protection and, at times, his amusement.

As it was a sword designed and charmed to cut down his fellow demons of the night.

When he heard a great roar that shook the windows of his home, it was only natural that Trafalgar would hoist this sheathed sword over his shoulders and set out with it. He also took his medical bag, out of habit more than necessity.

Bepo came when called for, and it was clear he hadn't been the one to make such an upset by the way his hackles were raised.

"_Some beast in the valley?_" asked Bepo, half snarling his words so they were unintelligible. Trafalgar nearly had him repeat himself, but he had known his beast for so long that interpreting him based on body language alone sufficed in most situations.

"I have an idea of what it could be. But let's find out, shall we?"

Bepo snorted and lumbered down a forest path in his bearish form, raking the ground with his elongated claws. After a few minutes of tedious walking through the dense underbrush, Trafalgar swung up onto Bepo's back while he was still in motion, not intending to walk the distance to a sound that seemed far off yet. Bepo only grunted and accepted what was fully his master's right.

Besides, he was quite pleased to be of any assistance.

"Bepo, what does that smell like to you?"

Bepo raised his nose from the forest floor and scented the air. "_Fire?_" he grumbled, puzzled. "_Well, smoke._"

"Smoke indeed. That is all I can smell myself."

Bepo's sides expanded, widening his girth and causing Trafalgar to take up a different position on his back, feet on one side of his steed. Riding side-saddle in the barest of ways. "_I also smell humans_!"

"Really? What sort of humans?"

"_Dirty humans_," Bepo replied. His nose might have been much stronger than Trafalgar's, but his descriptions were weaker. Sparse, really.

"They're all dirty to you, Bepo. I'm asking about their status."

Bepo heaved another breath. "_Oh, I'm sorry, Master. Very, very dirty humans_. _The dirtiest of them all._"

Trafalgar tapped the tip of his nodachi against his heeled boot as he rode along, idly putting pieces together. "Pheasants, then. Well. I should have made that conclusion myself. Only drunken pheasants would dare go anywhere near the Boin forest."

"_I do not smell intoxicators_."

"Nothing? That is very strange."

As Bepo began to grunt that he could smell a strange scent amidst the odour of unwashed human bodies and smoke, a fierce bellow shook the tree leaves. This one was so loud, Trafalgar quickly concluded that whatever had made such a noise was nearly upon them.

"Bepo, you should probably move to the side of the path, and make ready for something that might want to pass."

Not one for exercising hesitation to his master's words, Bepo pressed his bulky body against the nearest tree off the forest path. Within seconds the ground began to shake, and a half-giant came tearing by a half-minute later, sparing them the smallest of glances with its dark, beady eyes.

Trafalgar was delighted by its appearance. "Bepo, I do believe that's the bergrisar you once had a bit of a row with. Pursue him at once."

Bepo whined, "_Must we?_"

"Oh, we must," Dr. Trafalgar said with a grin upon his face. As Bepo began to lop dejectedly after the mountain giant, voices through the trees caught the doctor's attention. He leaned forward on Bepo's back and grabbed for the scruff of his neck, reining him in with a forceful jerk. "What was _that_?"

"_The humans I smelt_," Bepo offered with a giddiness that told of how he was quite pleased that he had been right about one thing. "_They must have been chasing him_."

"Indeed," Trafalgar said as the scent of flesh wafted into his nostrils. "Hmm. Well. They _have _trespassed on my property. Perhaps we ought to reinforce the concept that I don't like people trespassing through the Boin forest. That the Boin forest is a dangerous place."

Bepo swung his head around, trying to get a better look at his master. "_Will you kill them_?"

"Certainly. I may also carve out their hearts, if it is of any interest to you."

Bepo snorted as his master slid from his back, nodachi in hand and a thoughtful, yet deadly expression haunting his features. "Go. Follow the bergrisar. Tell him I wish to have tea with him."

His shapeshifter was not pleased, but did as he was instructed.

Trafalgar was left in the darkness, watching torch light creep closer to his position. He couldn't distinguish the words of the bergrisar's pursuers, as they were the whispers of hunters. He drew his sword when the first of what could have been three or four was upon him. Deftly, he cut them down, one by one, silently slicing them. One from shoulder to hip, another across the neck, and finally lopping an arm and a head off of the third. A fourth realized the one causing this massacre was nearly upon him and tried to flee. Trafalgar stabbed him before he was able to get out of reach of his arcing blade.

He stamped out their torches with his boots, and the world went dark save for a few points of reflective light in the undergrowth and the waning moon overhead.

Sucking in a deep breath after that flurry of action, Trafalgar found his senses aroused by the gore staining the forest floor. Already he could see curious eyes in the darkness. Beasts waiting for him to abandon his kill. Perhaps even the vegetation under his feet was sucking the blood and bone marrow of his victims as he stood there in thought. He wouldn't put it past the Boin forest.

Grunting to cause a nervous stir in the creatures rapidly surrounding him, he knelt beside a fallen body and touched a few fingers to the blood pouring from a chest wound, then raised them to his nose. He sniffed.

A flash of disappointment coursed through his body. The blood was fresh, ridiculously so, yet it reeked of an impossible staleness. It did not excite him. Rather it put a damper on his delight.

He tasted it anyway and nearly retched. It tasted of decay, not life.

It wasn't as if he'd never tasted pheasants' blood before either. He'd feasted on many a pheasant. Their skin was often dirtier than a noble's, but their blood was the same. Human blood was always the same, and had, until now, all tasted delightful to him. He did not discriminate based on rank.

He moved off to another body and repeated his actions, even tasted what dripped off of his fingers. This time, he did retch.

He cleaned himself with a black handkerchief and got up, abandoning the bodies to the beasts lurking in the undergrowth. As soon as he cleared off by ten feet, he heard the commotion begin. Teeth and claws ripping flesh apart. The claiming of bits and pieces. A cacophonic symphony of snarls. His head began to throb.

"Bepo!" he screamed. "Bepo! Come here right now!"

He sat down on a fallen tree and thrust the blade of his sword into the ground. Breathing shallowly now, he listened to his shapeshifter lumber up, frantically growling and snarling his name. Demolishing trees that were hundreds of years old and frightening off the creatures hanging about his person.

"Bepo, calm down, I'm fine," Dr. Trafalgar said as his beast shoved his furred head into his lap, snuffling his chest for injuries. "I just got a little upset."

"_But why?_" Bepo wondered aloud, blinking big black eyes at him.

Trafalgar ignored his question. He didn't want to think too deeply on the matter. "Did you invite the bergrisar to tea like I asked you to?"

Bepo couldn't meet his eyes. Very subtly he gazed in the direction of the fallen pheasants. "_Oh, I…well, I believe I lost him. I'm sorry! He can get on quick_."

"Bepo!"

"_Then you called me over with obvious distress!_"

Trafalgar sighed. It was probably for the best. He had a feeling he wouldn't make a very good host if the distress he'd felt in that moment returned. "Let's go home and get a good night's sleep. I have patients I need to kill in the morning."

Bepo was happy to oblige.

* * *

**A.N.:** I actually love the fountain scene. Every single time it makes me laugh for some reason. Perhaps you laughed too, or experienced some other type of emotion.

Thank you everyone for leaving such nice comments on this story! My insides get all fluttery reading them :)


	8. Chapter VIII

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter VIII

* * *

Staring down at the corpse on the bed, Trafalgar was careful not to do anything overly offensive to it. Ten people were diligently watching his hands at work.

"He lived a long life, doctor," said a middle-aged woman dressed in black. She was the dead's younger sister or his daughter, if the weeping earlier had been any indication. "His life would have been much shorter had you not come to attend to him."

"That is true," Dr. Trafalgar conceded solemnly. The irony being that it was certainly true. This particular man's body would have shut down hours sooner if it weren't for Trafalgar's caprice serum. It tricked the body into a state of euphoria, and did not allow Death to come near.

For a time.

"We humbly thank you for all you've done," another black-garbed person said.

"Have the funeral preparations been done?" he asked instead. He disliked being thanked for murder a great deal.

Someone told him they'd been taken care of and with that sorted out, Dr. Trafalgar got to his feet with the intention of making a hasty exit. He received payment for his time and well wishes, and the words stuck to his conscience like rapidly drying mud, cracking and falling off of him with every step he took. He didn't want to hear them. He was presently in agony. He hadn't eaten a drop to sustain himself since…well, it must have been since suckling on Lord Eustass in the fountain.

The very thought of that despicable man made him kick Bepo in the side a touch too sharply when they set off.

"_Ouch! That kind of hurt with your heeled boots, Master_."

"My apologies, Bepo. I'm not in the best of moods. I think I shall swing by the estate of Lord Portgas, if you wouldn't mind turning around and heading east."

His steed rounded a bend in the cobblestone road and dug his hooves into the rocks, grinding to a stop. When riding a horse or a bear, the head decided the direction, and so Bepo's head swung in an arc wildly and they headed back in the direction they'd come. After a few minutes of horsey cantering and snorting in the direction of mid-day strollers that waved to them as they passed, Bepo decided to question his master. He could feel the dark waves of depression and irritation bleeding down from the vampire into his fur.

"_Were you not given a chance to extract some of that victim's blood_?_ Is that what has irritated you_?"

"Oh no, Bepo. It is much more dire than that."

"_More dire, Master_?"

"Aye. I have lost my appetite."

Shocked, Bepo swung his massive head around to try and assess his master's expression, and nearly ran headlong into a fence. Some pheasant maid screamed as Bepo launched himself into the air at the last possible moment, landing on the other side rather than obliterating the wooden pickets.

"Bepo! Watch where you are going, you brute!"

"_I'm sorry, Master! It's just – you can't lose your appetite! It's impossible! Don't tell me, was it…the scent of garlic_?!"

Trafalgar sighed and held onto the pommel of Bepo's saddle as they sailed over the other side of the fence, exiting the yard. The strange behaviour would be all over Sabaody tomorrow. He could hear the whispers already. Dr. Trafalgar's crazed plough horse, frothing at the mouth, had a habit of leaping white picket fences in a state of complete delirium.

Somehow, he could care less about his reputation right now. He needed to see Lord Portgas to seek help in confirming what he feared was amiss with him.

-oOo-

Duchess Jewellery arrived in a Landau carriage and four, driven by a muscular man who brought the promised painting of the _Moby Dick_ inside the manor of Lord Portgas.

Earlier on in the day he'd sent Marco on a daylong trip around Sabaody, delivering letters and picking up goods on the tame palomino mare. It had been a planned affair, as the lord did not want Marco around while the painting was delivered. He wanted it to be something of a surprise for when he returned.

He only hoped he could be rid of Duchess Jewelry before that allotted time came to pass.

"What a splendid estate!" the duchess cooed. "A slight bit worn around the edges, but I suppose that is to be expected since you've only just begun to occupy it, Mr. Portgas."

Lord Portgas looked upon his manor, bemused. The vines were growing rampantly away from their trellises and the landscaping was nonexistence. There was a fountain in the front yard that remained devoid of water and the trees were untrimmed. It looked a wreck, really.

They had gone inside and the lord had indicated where he wanted the painting to be hung. He chose to put it near the entrance so it could loom down at visitors in its full magnificence. When that was settled, they took to the nearest drawing room.

"Is there anything I can get you, duchess? My servant is out and I'm afraid I'm the only one here at the moment to attend you." His words were all civilities, brought about by the basic fact that it would be rude to kick out the woman who'd let him have the painting plainly titled _Pirate Flagship: Moby Dick_.

"You have no other servants?" the lady cried, aghast and glancing about in perplexed wonder. "No cook, no footm–"

"Not a one," the lord said with an amused smile. "I have but a single, well-mannered valet. A gentleman's gentleman he is. Now, can I get you a glass of wine, perhaps?"

The duchess took her time to respond. At last she said, "If you would like, I could send some of my servants over here…"

"That is not necessary. A drink?"

"No."

With that settled, the lord sat and crossed one leg over the other, smiling expectantly. He did not wish to be the one carrying the conversation.

Duchess Jewelry picked up the hint and they talked at length of the manor, of the residents of Sabaody, and of the people they knew. For the lord, it was beyond dreary. Until, of course, a certain name was mentioned.

"Gol D. Roger, your father, often drove by my estate on his way in to town. Or so my father said."

"I don't like to talk about _him_."

But the duchess continued as if she hadn't heard his words. Perhaps she really hadn't, as the lord had ceased listening to her and it would not have surprised him if she'd in turn quit listening to his short replies, too scarce to be of any substance. She was certainly an excessive chatter, and it would not be shocking if she were a woman who only had ears for her own voice.

"Your father, he was very fond of my father's gardens, you know. They are beyond a doubt the most beauteous in all of Sabaody. Lord Gol was–"

"I don't wish to speak of him. He's not–"

"Sometimes, he would be too busy to join my papa for a chat, but he was also such a jovial man. Or so people tell me. They said he was a privateer, and that he was one of he king's greatest assets. They said he conquered many pirate crews and the king allowed him lots of gold–"

"They were wrong. He was no _privateer_, he was simply a demo–"

"They say he bought this estate as a–"

"_Enough_!"

Duchess Jewelry pursed her lips, Lord Portgas' outburst silencing her and bringing a flush to her cheeks.

"You know nothing about the man! Nor will I tell you about him, because he is not someone I wish to discuss!"

As Duchess Jewelry, by now very red in the face, began to stammer out an apology, a shuffling in the doorway of the drawing room caught their attention.

"My apologies, Lord Portgas, Duchess Jewelry Bonney. I hope I haven't interrupted anything _too_ intimate."

While the duchess glared at the man leaning on the doorframe with utter contempt, the lord smiled, all of his anger slipping away. "Dr. Trafalgar. Always a pleasure. I'm glad you simply let yourself in."

"This Marco man is away, I presume?"

"Indeed."

"I see. I settled Bepo in the yard where he won't get into trouble."

"Brilliant. How is he?"

"Amiable, though his gut is always yearning for food."

"And how are you?"

"That we shall discuss in length later."

By now, the duchess was fed up with being ignored, and tried to insert herself into the pleasantries. "Yes, how _are _you, Trafalgar? You look a little under the weather, being somewhat pale for once." Trafalgar's eye twitched at the insult, as he was all too aware she was likening him to a servant. "Perhaps you should have stayed home?"

The implications were clear in that.

The doctor smiled tightly. He was so sure of a change in skin tone but he was fully aware that his eyes were more hollowed out than usual and the blackness that surrounded them was rapidly expanding. He was beginning to wonder if people would come up to him in the streets and instruct him to seek God, or an exorcist, because the face he wore was certainly one of a man infested by demonic spirits.

If that actually did happen, he would laugh so hard at the irony that he likely would end up dying of asphyxiation.

However, the assertion that he was not well irked him into saying, "Miss Jewelry, I regret to inform you that as I passed by your estate earlier, I happened to notice a great commotion. It seems as though some of your pigs got loose. They are running rampant all over your garden, eating up flowers and what have you. An unfortunate occurrence. I do hope your estate does not suffer too terribly."

Duchess Jewelry gaped most unladylike. "And you did _nothing _to help contain them?"

"As you well know I am but a physician, not a swineherd. What could I have done? Though I must admit it appeared as though your men were beside themselves with not knowing what to make of the situation. They seemed to crave some direction."

The duchess promptly got to her feet, hiking her dress up to expose her ankles, being the scandalous woman that Trafalgar thought her to be. She turned to the lord and before he could protect himself, snatched up his hands in hers. "Lord Portgas, my apologies, it seems as though I must be going."

She appeared genuinely sorry to be out of his company, and the lord walked her to her waiting carriage, giving her a hand up while the doctor waited against the doorway of the manor. When he returned after the carriage and four sped off, the corners of the doctor's mouth went sailing upwards.

"She will certainly have me fried in sulphuric acid for that."

The lord closed the door behind them, glad to be relieved of the duchess. "Why's that?" he asked.

"I lie using metaphors."

"You are a terrible, terrible man. Let me guess: _she_ was the pig running rampant in _my_ gardens?"

"_Oui_. That is my French for _damn right_. You know, I love to lie about how many languages I speak."

Lord Portgas sighed wistfully and rubbed the back of his neck, as it had gotten stiff from sitting and listening to the duchess drone on and on and on. They took a seat upon a nearby chaise together and it did not escape the lord's notice that the doctor appeared more flabby than usual. Not fat, no. Never. Just weaker in stature.

"You came just at the right moment. She was beginning to question me about _that man_. And whenever he is mentioned his apparent riches follow."

This brought a snicker out of Trafalgar's throat. "Either she genuinely adores you, or she is a sycophant looking to contrive a great deal of knowledge about the One Piece." The doctor chuckled in amusement at his friend's face, wrinkled with disgust. "I'm sure we can agree that her motives lie in the latter."

"I know nothing about the One Piece. You know more than I do of its whereabouts."

"I just know it's out there," the doctor admitted with a shrug. "I searched for it once, but after nearly dying a few times all the riches of the world lose their appeal. Besides, I am content here. Or at least I should be content."

Lord Portgas sat up a little straighter. "You seem sullen today. I noticed it in your horrific posture."

Slouching deeper, Trafalgar admitted, "I'm more hungry than sullen, I think."

A flash of alarm crossed the lord's face. "Hungry? _Hungry_?"

"Relax. I'm not going to eat your dearest Marco or anything. You can keep your human." Lord Portgas visibly relaxed, his shoulders arching forward ever so slightly. "But I have to ask you, Ace, whether or not you'd be willing to help me out."

"I will always try my best to help a friend," the lord said with a shy smile. The word _friend_, the doctor knew, was a label he was not quick to use. It denoted the highest honour.

So the doctor asked his question, knowing that it would be hard for Ace to disown his friendship, since it was not in his nature to let go of people easily so long as they were not a romantic interest of his. "Can I taste a few drops of your blood?"

Lord Portgas blinked stupidly at him.

"Was that too forward?"

Ebony hair was sent into a whirlwind of action as the lord shook his head. "No, no, I just…did not expect you to ever ask that of me. Is that…even safe?"

Putting his palms together, Trafalgar twiddled his thumbs. "The reason I'm asking you this is because I…well, I have a patient whom…you remember me mentioning Lord Eustass?" The lord nodded, his features scrunching up as he recalled that conversation not so very long ago in the doctor's home. "The old Eustass, I imagine you can find his bones in the backyard of the Eustass estate, but he's not really what I have concerned myself with. Or who, rather. The grandson, he's an entirely different breed from his grandsire. But the curious part…"

Trafalgar took in a deep breath of air and let it out slowly through his mouth. "The curious part is that he reminds me somewhat of you. You two have very similar _drives_, if you know what I am implying. Violence…and sex."

"He is an incubus?"

"I don't know. I thought he was a descendant of the Nephilim at first, but those creatures are extinct as far as I know."

"What are the Nephilim?" asked the lord, thoroughly perplexed. "Some sort of demon? I've never heard of them."

"They are the product of a fallen angel and a woman. They're born with an inherent wickedness and capable of incredible sin. Lord Eustass, he told me many things that led me to believe he was one of their race, but that is impossible given the family structure of the Eustass clan. Nephilim are always male and always corrupt. His grandfather was strictly human, and the traits don't pass down through daughters. They are only inherited by sons. His mother's side of the family is unaccounted for, but for this particular hypothesis it hardly matters. Besides that, the race was known for gigantism, and while Lord Eustass is certainly over the average, he is not a giant by any means."

"You have given this a lot of thought," the lord said. "But where do I, and my blood for that matter, come into all of this?"

"Let's go back to the fact that you're an incubus. Full blooded. Your father was what you are now. Your mother, you have told me, was also of demonic blood, but she charmed plants and that was the extent of it. Her powers were more of a benevolent witch's."

Lord Portgas smiled sadly upon the mention of his mother. Though he'd never met her, she was someone he held dear. Some ingrained memories were within him, memories that had been given to him before even his birth. Sometimes, he could hear the wind blowing through blades of grass and a part of him would liken it to her voice, even though he'd never heard it. At least not before he was born.

"So they made you, another incubus, and your father's traits were…Ace, don't give me that look, I know you don't like talking about _him,_ but I feel I must explain this. A demon and one with magic in their blood like your mother creates yet another demon it seems. But what of a demon and a human? What does an incubus and a human create?"

"Nothing," Lord Portgas said, almost cheerily. "Because it is almost a given that all incubi are…sterile when it comes to trying to impregnate human women, since the human isn't strong enough to carry the demonic creation. Though I've heard of those that have done it, but I don't know how it's accomplished."

"What about a succubus and a human male?" asked the doctor.

"Cambion, same as the supposed child between an incubus and a woman. But they usually get killed by…well, a variety of things. By either of the parents who are disgusted by it, neglect…I don't know everything there is to know, I've just heard they appear as dead infants, as in they have no pulse or breathing pattern for a few _years_, and they usually end up killing their mothers by sucking all the life out of them, even if the mother is a succubus. So the succubus side rarely allow themselves to become pregnant. It's very strange."

"That's the legend," the doctor said, having already known as much himself.

"That's the legend, yes. That's all I know. They're a whole other creature and I don't fancy I'm much like one of those."

Trafalgar snorted, "I beg to differ. Lord Eustass displays some incubus traits that I cannot ignore. The relentless libido being the most prevalent. But he is violent, much more so than you. And another thing: my caprice serum seems to only enhance his desires. It doesn't slid off of his skin like it does you, it absorbs through the skin and into the blood. But unlike humans it doesn't seem to adversely affect him, even in larger quantities."

"That's bizarre."

"Very." The doctor scratched at his goatee, making note rather absently that it needed trimming. "And his blood, it tastes of something that is not entirely human, but I don't know if it's pure demon blood either. I've never bit an incubus, or a shapeshifter, or a–"

"You wish to compare?"

"Yes."

"You could have just said that outright."

Lord Portgas eyed up the nodachi that leaned against the divan, almost forgotten. "Are you going to kill Lord Eustass with that?"

"Perhaps. I'd like to know what he is first, though, before I swing my blade horizontally across his neck."

The lord shrugged and got to his feet, disappearing into his home only to come back with a clear wine glass. He held out his other palm to the doctor. "I'm curious what a tempered demon-slaying blade feels like. Here, use it to nick me and I'll give you a sample of what I'm made of."

"You don't want me to do that. Any injury I give on a demon's flesh with this blade won't ever heal. You'd eventually bleed out and die from the tiniest of scratches."

Lord Portgas shrunk away and let his hand fall limply against the upholstery. "On second thought, let me get a knife from the kitchen."

"No biting then?"

The lord shook his head, lips curling as if tasting something sour. "I don't think I'd like that much. I'd rather slice myself open, thank you."

"No, thank _you_," Dr. Trafalgar said softly as his friend went away and came back with a glinting silver knife sharpened to slice meat cleanly. He drew the blade across his palm, holding his hand over the cup. Trafalgar watched the red drip down into the glass and felt the first stabbings of arousal. Not for his friend, of course, but for his friend's blood.

"Let me bind that for you," the doctor insisted, already reaching for some wraps in his medical bag, his constant companion. He withdrew the supplies and received the glass of red from the lord, setting it down on a nearby table. Then he set about binding the tiny wound.

His ears picked up a breathing pattern that did not belong to either him or the lord.

He turned his head until he was right around, and Lord Portgas followed the direction of the motion, his eyes alighting on the person who'd just walked into the doorway of the room.

"_Marco_…you came in through the back door?"

"Y-yes, my Lord. I have, uh, completed the errands."

Dr. Trafalgar could only imagine how this must have looked to the man with the blond hair, whose eyes darted between him, his master's profusely bleeding palm, and the glass that contained no small amount of blood. It must have appeared very strange, so he said; "I'm only removing some of your master's blood for therapeutic purposes."

The valet nodded slowly, but the tenseness in his shoulders did not dissipate.

"Well, Ace, I shall get back to you on all matters health related. Yours and mine." The doctor picked up the glass of rouge after finishing tying off the bandage. "Goodbye for now."

"Shall I show you out, doctor?" asked Marco, still nervous.

"I'll show myself out."

The doctor moved around Marco, who gave him a small bow, and took note of the utter plainness of Lord Portgas' next conquest. There was nothing that that struck him as special about this man apart from his impressive musculature. Then again, he'd been surrounded by the unusual all his life and likely anyone who wasn't extravagant was lost to him. He could see the charm of lusting after a plain fellow after bedding a collection of dolled-up mannequins, and so that was what he chalked the lord's peculiar choice up to.

"Goodbye Law," the lord said, clutching his palm where already the blood was seeping through the bandage. After he left, Marco cautiously ambled up, concern written in his gaze.

"My Lord, why don't you sit? That was a bloodletting, right? It may be wise for you to have a seat–"

"I don't think I'm going to faint, Marco. I am certainly no maiden. It's just a little bit of blood. Less than half a pint for sure." Marco could not conceal his distress, and so Lord Portgas added, "Besides, I have something I wish for you to take a look at. It's in the front lobby…"

He took off before Marco could creep too close and assault his senses. Just the appearance of Marco was enough to make his heart flutter a few thumps faster, and he was glad of Trafalgar's quick departure. Normally the doctor would have stayed and likely would have teased him about his attractions ever so subtly in front of Marco. But he had left, which to the lord spelt out his gratuity for the blood he'd been given more clearly than words could have.

Marco followed him, and he took him to the location of the painting, stopping before it and diverting his attention to Marco's face. At first, there was confusion, and perhaps there was an element of disbelief, with Marco's facial muscles finally settling on awe as the appropriate expression to don.

"…Wherever did you get this?" Marco asked in a hush, for once forgetting formalities. "It's…that's the _Moby Dick_."

"It's a painting by Silvers Rayleigh. Is he not your favourite artist?" asked the lord, feeling smug that he'd managed to get Marco to loosen up.

"That's the _Moby Dick_," Marco repeated. "The _Moby Dick_."

"You…know the ship I take it?" the lord asked, perplexed. "I mean, that _is_ the name on the metal plate but…"

"I was once on that ship," whispered Marco quietly, his eyes blurring with a curtain of water. But just as suddenly as the wet film had appeared it vanished. The painting was no longer Marco's focus.

"Ah! My Lord, your hand! How it bleeds!"

Lord Portgas looked down at his side, where his arm hung loosely. When tears had appeared in Marco's eyes he'd unknowingly clenched his hand into a fist, released, and then clenched again. The result was another stream of blood that had gotten onto his slacks and dripped onto the floor.

"Oh," he muttered, not really all that interested. He wished to ask Marco of the ship in the painting, of what he had been doing on a ship whose crewmembers freed slaves and then blew the slavers that had carried them to bits and pieces.

His thoughts were abruptly staled when he felt a warm hand on his upper arm. He startled, for even though Marco's skin was not touching his, he could still feel the heat and energy through his clothing. He felt his body grow fiery hot as his desires surfaced. By now, Marco had tugged him to a nearby chair and had gently bid him to sit in it.

Then he ran off and returned with two small linen cloths and a bowl of water.

Lord Portgas saw what was to come and hurried to put a stop to it. "Marco, please, I can fix this myself without your help. It's alright."

Marco gave him an incredulous look and didn't cease reaching for the lord's bloodied bandage. "It is impossible! You may be able to wash your hand but you _cannot_ bind it tightly enough yourself!"

Ace let his guard down for only a moment, and Marco grasped his bare wrist. The euphoric effect on the lord was enough to subdue him into leaning back against the chair's headrest. He closed his eyes to block his vision in an effort to calm himself, his breathing short and quick.

"Are you alright?" Marco asked, further alarmed by his lord's strange behaviour.

"I'm fine," the lord managed to say, struggling to get his breathing under control. He almost had it when Marco's fingers began to dance all over his hand, untying the bandage Trafalgar had put on. Then, gently, Marco lowered his hand into what must have been a bowl of water.

Then those fingers began to gently rub against his flesh, cleaning him, and the lord nearly lost his thoughts. All he could concentrate on was Marco and those deft fingers, so careful and caring. Eventually he felt Marco lift his limp hand from the bowl and dab the water off with one of the linen cloths. The other was carefully tied around his hand and bound tightly.

But Marco did not let go, and finally the lord lifted his eyes and found Marco staring all too deeply at him, his dark eyes running over his face with concern.

The sight was too much for Lord Portgas.

As Marco began to voice those concerns he had, the lord leaned into the space that separated them and kissed Marco, right in the middle of his forehead. It was bliss, absolute bliss for the lord, to finally put his hungry lips to skin. At first, Marco didn't budge, and the lord let his kiss linger, but all at once both men pulled away. Lord Portgas stood, his hand relinquished from Marco's grasp.

"T-thank you, Marco, for your help," the lord managed to say shakily before quitting the room to retire to his bedchamber upstairs. He did not come down for the remainder of the evening, even when Marco forced himself upstairs to ask him down to supper, acting as though nothing had happened.

Marco left a platter of food outside the door and returned to the kitchen to clean up. Then he relocated to the front lobby, where he seated himself on a bench and stared at the _Moby Dick _eternally crashing through a multitude of waves on the ocean.

The second he'd laid eyes on it he'd known that the painting had been personally selected for him. He should have known, too, that it was not such an innocent gift.

* * *

**A.N.: **Summary of this chapter: Trafalgar kills someone, obtains Ace's blood through friendly coercion; Bepo jumps some fences and scares someone, too; the duchess is compared to a pig; and Ace and Marco get awkward.

And Eustass? Well, I forgot about that Kidd. (I kid, of course!) He'll have to come back next chapter I suppose. Yes, yes he will.


	9. Chapter IX

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter IX

* * *

Standing on Lord Portgas' front porch, Dr. Trafalgar raised the wine glass in his hand to his lips. He tilted it just a fraction so a few drops of the liquid slid into his mouth, his mind a wreck of formulas and hypotheses.

He spat out the blood onto the dirt. In truth, it did not taste half-bad. Yet in his current state it was outright revolting.

He had his answer, though.

Spitting a few times to clean his mouth of the taste of copper and something else, some other demonic quality he could not pinpoint, the doctor dumped the remainder of the blood into the flowerbed near his feet. Then he set the glass down on its side near an anthill he found a few feet off from the doorway. It would be cleaned by an army soon enough.

"Bepo!" he called, and the heavy footfall of his steed reached his ears before long. Bepo galloped to his side, and Trafalgar noted the beast's muzzle. Brownish red. "You've been into something."

"_Only a lamb from a farm over yonder_," Bepo admitted, ironically looking quite sheepish. "_Tried to swallow it in one shot but I…well, my mouth isn't big enough and it got a little messy. I'm sorry_." His equine hooves were turned slightly inward, reminding Trafalgar of a scolded child or a dog with its tail between its legs.

"Never mind. We're going through the forest anyway. I wish to pay Lord Eustass a visit while it is still light out."

He swung up on Bepo's back, the warm fur feeling particularly good today, making him glad he'd forsaken Bepo's saddle. They lumbered along the edge of the Gol estate for a while, eventually disappearing into the surrounding forest, going southwest in order to take the shortest possible route. He only passed a few hamlets and did not see a soul save for a few farmers hard at work in their fields, attention on their soil and crops. Had they been doing anything else they probably would have noticed the mammoth snow white horse and its dark rider.

Upon arriving outside of the Eustass estate, Trafalgar dismounted and told Bepo to take a nap near the treeline not too far from his position. He didn't know how long he would be, and he could tell Bepo was craving shade under his thick fur coat even though it was shorter in this horsey form. It had gotten warm today, and if his awkward gait didn't give Bepo away as something other than a horse his bearish panting would.

He left Bepo stretched out under an elm, looking quite a bit like a mare giving birth, and strode over to the front door of the manor. Clasping the knocker, Trafalgar gave it three sharp cracks against the metal plating, leaving a dull ringing in his ears.

He was not made to wait long. A rather young, visibly frightened boy opened the heavy wooden door and stared at him. If anything, Trafalgar noticed he became more alarmed.

"May I come in? I wish to speak with Lord Eustass."

"T-the elder Lord Eustass has p-passed, sir," the boy stammered. "H-His grave is down by t-the…_the pond_."

The doctor raised his eyebrows. The lad was a complete nervous wreck, fidgeting and looking about as if wary of someone coming up behind him to beat him senseless. Likely he had every right to be nervous.

"I wish to give my sincerest condolences to the young master of this house, whom I have come to see. I wish to make sure he is alright."

"Oh, I don't t-think you should see him. I mean, you're not allowed t-to."

Trafalgar's blood was beginning to boil over in annoyance at the petulance of this mere child. "I'm a doctor."

"H-he explicitly ordered not t-to let you in, Dr. Tra…_Trafalgar_."

This greatly surprised him. That the boy had been warned of who he was by Lord Eustass, and instructed not to let him in, was certainly a hindrance to his plans for the evening. He had tricked a different boy once to gain access to the house. He recalled that one had dark hair, and this one was blond. Perhaps a replacement.

"He could die if you don't let me inside."

The boy's eyes widened, but his grip on the handle of the door remained steady. "M-Master warned t-that you'd t-try to sneak by."

"I am not sneaking. I am no sneaky fox, only a doctor. I am right here in front of you. I am not so scary, am I? Please, I have only the most benevolent inclinations for visiting your dear Master during a time of grieving. I wish to–"

"I-I'm s-sorry!" the boy cried suddenly, almost breaking down into sobs. He closed the door on Trafalgar, and he could hear a multitude of locks being put into place. Out of annoyance he nearly called out that locks weren't necessary to stop a vampire that was already denied access to a home by words and will alone.

He stood leaning against the hilt of his nodachi for some time, simply thinking of what he could possibly do now. Then it struck him. He straightened and removed the blade from its sheath, hefted it over the wood of the door, and began to carve. The sun set behind him, casting a long, eerie shadow across his work. When he finished carving the single word he deemed was appropriate, he moved away and let the waning sun hit the door directly and put shadows into the gouges he'd created.

_**Cambion**_, the door read in a horrifically scratchy, though still delicate scripture.

He rode off on Bepo without looking back, not intending to return now that his analysis had been completed.

-oOo-

Marco sat on his bed, hands clasped in his lap to keep them from shaking. His mind was a cluttered mess of thoughts, chief among them his immediate dismissal from the Gol…no, the _Portgas_ estate.

He figured it was a matter of time. Lord Portgas would surely reappear tomorrow morning and force him out.

Or perhaps not. That strange affection, whatever it had truly been born of, was clearly orchestrated by the lord, not him. So there was that to consider, which made it harder to sort his feelings out.

He bowed his head and prayed. Thought about his childhood. Of slaving on a plantation only to be sold to foreigners, then being saved by a man who fought against the slavers that had taken him from his plantation, and then… then the _Moby Dick_ had began to sink too far off the coast to swim to shore.

But they had been saved. A grand ship o' the line had come to their aid, the ship of a pirate captain. He had let them aboard before they died of drowning…

He replayed that stormy day, remembering how the sails had been ripped from their ropes and the hull had lurched to one side before they truly began taking on water. He saw the terrified faces of those coming up from below the deck, and the face of the one who had led them, their father figure, standing lop-sided as the ship went down. He hadn't moved the whole time will the others tried to save themselves, to flee to the lifeboats that could never hold all of them. He remembered watching from afar the hulking figure of their father going down with his ship, unflinching in the face of death and never once falling over.

The Pirate King had saved most of them and secretly landed outside of the port of Mariejois. Yet the man known as Gol D. Roger did not expect for the whole lot of them to be re-captured by the Nobles that had originally commissioned the slaver ship to sail.

The real pirates by that time were long gone, disbanded, and the slaves remained in the town seeking work and begging. None knew where they had landed. Marco starkly remembered being arrested and chained to a bunch of former slave-pirates that he thought he'd never see again. But they were all rounded up, and set for the gallows for disobedience and fleeing. Marco was one of the youngest, and at the back of the line that was arranged by age and height. He saw all of those that swung by their necks, pissed their pants if they had any, and envisioned himself doing the same.

But Gol had stopped them from prodding him up the stairs to the executioner. He had appeared out of the crowd of spectators and flashed a paper that Marco did not understand at the time. He just remembered being hauled off and going in and out of a dark world, put on by his dehydration. Then waking up on the Gold estate to a kindly woman with strawberry blonde hair and freckles across her cheeks.

He remembered Rouge's kindness well. In fact, he could see Rouge's likeness in more than the freckles on Lord Portgas' face. So, he had hope yet.

-oOo-

Somehow, he had refrained from shooting it.

That Lord Eustass blamed on a lack of bullets, but really he was feeling a touch too inquisitive about the creature hiding under an elaborate bench to put a lead bullet into its body. Besides, the accursed doctor was on his mind, as he had been throughout the week, and now the lord was beginning to question anything that seemed out of place. Like this straw-coloured fuzzball.

"You a demon?" the lord asked gruffly, gun in one hand and rapier in the other. If bludgeoning it in the head with the blunt muzzle of the gun didn't work out, he could always pierce its heart.

The creature merely shifted, a ripple across its mass of fur. Eustass could not tell where its eyes were, or its mouth for that matter. It was ambiguous what sex it even was.

He carefully sat on the edge of a nearby armchair, his eyes never leaving the creature, curious to see what it would do. He was wary of letting it wander off lest it wreck havoc on his home. Yet he somehow felt that outright killing it wasn't in his best interest.

The lord tensed when the creature began to change position, gradually easing itself out from underneath the bench where it had been found hiding this morning after rummaging about in his kitchen. His stableboy had come across it in the pantry and shrieked loud enough to wake his other servants and himself.

His servants thought it was some sort of scruffy sheepdog, but Eustass knew better than to think it was a shaggy mutt that had gotten in through a back door. After his repeated encounters with a vampire he was rightfully wary of anything out of the ordinary. So he'd dismissed his servants to the bowels of the estate and taken the matter into his own hands.

The creature slipped from the underside of the bench to a nearby armchair in a flash, seating itself without ever showing a distinguishable limb.

Its speed was unnerving. Lord Eustass folded his arms across his chest and stared at the strange beast that was occupying his armchair, once again frozen in place. Now that it was out of hiding, he could see it was not so much a beast at all as a man with excessively long blond hair.

"Just what are you?"

"Whatever you want me to be."

Immediately a face came to Lord Eustass' mind upon hearing the beguiling, almost seductive voice of this creature. He was surprised it had spoken at all, and with such clarity. He thought long about those words, and at last said, "A killer."

"A killer?" the thing asked, sounding slightly surprised itself. "Not a housekeeper or guard?"

"You can be those secondarily," the lord said. He astonished himself with the ease with which he had accepted this strange creature. Of course, if it was the wrong move his rapier would correct the situation. "Now, show me your face, killer."

"I do not show my face," the thing replied, a ripple running through its blond hair. "I do not show my face unless that which you've spoken is to be my name."

"Killer? Sure. That is your name." A violent shudder wracked the body of the creature and it began to shift stiffly again. "Now tell me what kind of a demon you are, what form you take…because I believe that your kind exists."

Slowly, the being sat up rather than kept its hunched shape, and Lord Eustass could see it at least had the body of a man, though a dirty scrap of clothing tied around its waist obscured its sex. He could also see that the ears poking out of the thick curtain of blond hair were human, save for the pointedness of the helix.

"I am a housekeeping demon and I will live here with you, Master."

Lord Eustass' forehead wrinkled. He hadn't really thought of _keeping _the creature in the _house_ with him. Rather he thought it could be stabled outside…or something of the sort. Collared and leashed. Yet now he was listening to a demon address him as 'Master,' something a servant would do, not an animal. He liked the power that came with that title.

"So you will obey me, then?" the lord asked next.

"So long as you don't offend me."

Lord Eustass pondered this. "How would I offend you?"

The creature made a sort of snorting sound. "By not being gracious. If I do my work well, show me something in return. A gift, perhaps."

"Alright," Lord Eustass said, not entirely sure what it was he was agreeing to. If he squinted, it almost sounded like a business contract. "One more thing I wish to see before I get you some clothes to wear…Killer, show me your face."

The creature raised two very human, thin yet well-defined arms out of the curtain of hair that encompassed its body. Its hands were almost elegant, finely veined, with pointed fingernails that were more the claws of a beast than anything else. Then it parted the curtain of blond, and Lord Eustass was witness to a thing of nightmares. The face of his Killer.

He grinned, earning him high favour with the demon that smiled toothily back.

-oOo-

Lord Portgas paced his bedchamber, thinking about Marco and what he'd done to him. The valet had brought it upon himself, touching the lord's skin and gracing him with his ever-endearing gaze…

No, Lord Portgas knew it was entirely his fault.

He had been the one to kiss Marco's forehead exactly one week ago. His gentlemanly servant had appeared to have written it off, going about all of his usual tasks. Of course, there was a distancing that had occurred between them, for Lord Portgas had not come out of his bedchamber for two days following the incident.

The first thing Marco had asked from him was about his dismissal.

Lord Portgas almost considered it a good idea, but the thought of having Marco leave the estate was hard for him to stomach. So he declined. Made him stay. After all, Marco had nowhere else to go.

Now Marco was standing behind him, waiting for him to finish penning the last of his letters to be taken and distributed around Sabaody. He had gotten a most peculiar letter from Dr. Trafalgar, telling him that he wished to see him some time in the next week or so. A tea party, or something, was to be held in the Boin forest.

The doctor had only said that it would be a rowdy affair should he choose to attend.

The lord sighed as he imagined how traumatized Marco would be if he were to accompany him to the event. For surely he would be traumatized, yes?

"My Lord, your tea…"

Lord Portgas stood, finished letters in hand, and spun on Marco hovering near him with a silver tray upon which a teapot steamed and a teacup and crème were delicately laid out.

A spoon resting on the edge of a plate holding the teacup rattled ever so slightly, the only sign of Marco's unease.

"Marco, please take it to the drawing room." Marco made for the smallest of bows, and the smallest was more than enough to break something volatile in the lord. "For the love of God, get yourself a cup and join me."

Marco's eyes widened and his cheeks became stained red. The tray in his hands rattled as his body trembled slightly. But he didn't fight, and soon they were both seated across from one another in armchairs, Marco making a point to look into his own cup of tea and not directly across from him.

"I apologize for my behaviour," the lord said when he was fed up with the silence. It was making him hot in the head, and when he got fired up it was hard to cool down again. The fire had been lit with the kiss, and kindled by the stretch of inactivity that he'd subjected himself to for the week following the spark. Now the fire in him was raging, making it impossible to filter out things in his mind that should not be said.

Marco looked up to meet his eyes when the lord said, "I cannot help myself. I really cannot. You are too tempting to ignore."

With a flourish of his cuffs, Marco was on his feet, setting his teacup rattling upon the tray that sat idly on a table, a physical barrier that separated them. Lord Portgas followed suit, ridding himself of the tea while also placing his hand down on the tray, preventing Marco from removing it and, thus, removing himself.

"Stay."

Marco backed off from the tray, but did not sit down again, so the lord remained standing also.

"Say something, Marco," the lord said, close to pleading. "Silence kills me."

"I-I don't…I don't know what to say."

"Tell me what you think of me. I asked you before, and you said you didn't have an opinion formed yet because you hadn't known me long. Well, now you have had several weeks to ponder, and I would like to know what it is that goes through that brilliant mind."

"Brilliant?" Marco muttered, renewed colour in his cheeks.

"Aye, brilliant. I know you've read every book in that library upstairs. Don't deny it – my father was opposed to sitting for long periods of time and everyone has told me how my mother was too absorbed in her garden to do anything else. Yet those books have been carefully read, I can tell by their spines and pages."

"Over the past twenty years there were a number of tenants before you, including the latest fellow, as you well know, who may have–"

"I met him on his way out of town. Not the bookish type; that I could plainly gather. Besides, for the past twenty years this place has been rented out as a hunting lodge and nothing more. The bookish type does not rent this place. If they wish to go somewhere for books, they visit the great and vast Ohara Library to the west."

At last, Marco sighed and admitted, "I can read. Your mother taught me when I was young, very young. When she died…" He saw something flash in his lord's eyes and paused. Then continued: "I was casually told of your birth, and that you had been taken away from here. I knew not if you'd survived, and everyone insisted that you had not, so it didn't stick with me. The tenant your father got for the place before his own death was always away from the estate, so I continued my studies alone."

"You must have been alone an awful lot."

"Not all of the time. There were always other servants. Older than me. They took me to church and what have you. I taught some of them to read, at least the ones that were not too proud to learn from a boy."

"I see," Lord Portgas muttered. His thoughts were hung up on one thing. The church. To know that Marco was religious suddenly made him feel a thousand times worse about what he had done…and what he was about to do.

"I'm still waiting on your opinion of me."

Marco sighed and raised a hand to run through his blond locks. "I don't have much of an opinion yet. You are something of an enigma. I feel…very much drawn to you and I cannot understand why that would be, except that you resemble your father and mother and have both of their kindness combined in your blood. But it is something quite different, almost. It's very unreal…ethereal, may be the word."

A great stirring hit the lord's lower regions. Very subtly he let out a groan that he worked to conceal under a deep exhale. "Something different," he repeated, inching his way around the table while keeping Marco's eyes on his. "Ethereal. Otherworldly. Eerie. Do you believe in things like that? In creatures like that?"

"As in…demonic creatures? I don't like to think creatures like that exist," Marco said softly, his unease marked by his shifting eyes. "I have a feeling, though, that they do exist and hide in the shadows, waiting to strike unfortunate souls." The lord touched him lightly upon the arm, on his elbow.

Marco looked down at their connection, then up at the freckled cheeks that danced a jig as the lord spoke. "I believe in those things because I have no choice but to believe."

The air in the room was suddenly much warmer, as the lord could not help but to caress the fabric of Marco's overcoat that bunched under his fingertips. Marco, not noticing the shift, was quiet as he asked, "What do you mean?"

"You'll find demons are quite real, Marco, and they rarely hide in shadows."

In response, his valet crossed himself. Lord Portgas made no move to stop him, and didn't feel a thing as their physical connection was lost. "It does nothing," he said quietly. "For we still exist, no matter what the faith says and what any practitioner does."

"We?" whispered the man.

"We," returned the lord, no smile upon his face. "The demon races, of which I am a part."

Lord Portgas didn't know why he was telling Marco, only that it felt liberating to share his secret with someone other than Trafalgar and those he grew up around. He figured this was because he just couldn't stomach the awkward secret as big as the duchess' gut between them any longer. It was simply impossible to get closer to Marco without admitting his secret.

So he went for the truth while he still had an audience.

"Marco, I'm like you but at the same time I'm not like you. I enjoy all of the human things, like food and a good night's sleep when I can get it, but there are things that are very… unhuman about me."

Marco didn't dare to move; indeed he could not. His feet were numb and frozen to the floor, affixed there by an odd mix of awe and fear. So he had no choice but to listen to every one of the lord's words.

"I'm not a monster. Really, I am not. I simply have other needs that seem very strange to some. See, I'm an incubus, a mess of emotions trapped in a distinctively humanesque body. I can become violent when provoked, or when people I love are threatened. I also enjoy sex." Finally, Marco flinched.

Lord Portgas returned his grip to the man's elbow tighter, not allowing him to make his escape. "I have loved a great many women, but none have captured me so completely as you have. I cannot fight this attraction and I've found that I don't even want to."

Once more, Marco was unable to find the will to move as the lord closed in. Directly in front of him now, Lord Portgas gripped Marco's other arm, close to his wrist, then leaned in and placed a hesitant kiss on the man's stubbled jaw.

At last, feeling soft but distinctly demanding lips gracing his skin, Marco found his words.

"T-this is sin, and you are a _demon_!"

"I am a demon, but this is _not_ sin," Lord Portgas insisted. His temper was flaring up, which he found happened when people disagreed with him on a subject he was passionate about. And this, this was something he could spend nights pondering, and indeed he had spent nights on the subject.

"Sin is the murder of another man. Sin is not a love of beauty, of something beauteous, unless it borders on murderousobsession." He brought a hand to Marco's cheek, trailing those white, tapered fingers down his rough, sun-hardened skin. "Why is it that we flee from fulfilling these desires that manifest themselves in our bodies upon birth? One body seeking another – that is all it is, and I happen to find you, another gentleman, so utterly fascinating."

Marco shook himself free of his master's grip. This man spoke lecherous things, evoked dread in his conscience. Yet, _yet_ he exercised a peculiar dash of excitement within Marco, and wonder. Those words were theories of a new era, a new teaching. They entranced him, downright ensnared him. Moved him.

"My Lord, please," Marco whispered as the young man pressed another kiss to his cheek, soft lips ghosting over his heated flesh.

Lord Portgas laughed lowly, a deep rumbling that swept teasingly across Marco's skin. "You must think I have no values at all. Less values than a pirate even. But I assure you that, for a born sinner, I rarely sin – it is just that you tempt me in ways I have never felt before, and I don't think I can go on ignoring you. It is too painful, and I am not accustomed to feeling such physical pain without injury."

Marco appeared ready to flee, his eyes swimming with fear more than awe now, and Lord Portgas scoured his mind for something that would make his valet understand him. "Is the truest love a sin?"

"No," Marco answered quietly.

Before Marco could move away, Lord Portgas wrapped his arms around his body, holding him tight. They were almost the same height, with Marco a few inches taller. The lord clenched his arms and brought him closer, breathing in his intoxicating scent as he mumbled, "Then this is not sin. It cannot be sin. I refuse to believe something so ludicrous."

Marco's body was tense, and Portgas' incubus desires ordered him to pounce and devour now, but he could not do that to Marco, who appeared a bulk of a man yet was really quite timid when it came to crossing onto a darker path. Instead, he focused his mind on something abstract to keep the demonic forces hidden under his mortal skin.

He could not keep his mind empty for long. It was impossible to ignore the one he had his heart set on. Again, he tried to speak to Marco. "What scares you more? The fact that I am a man, or the fact that I am a demon?"

"But you are not a man. You _are_ a demon."

This brought a frustrated little laugh out of the lord. "Marco, why should it even matter _what _I am? Man, demon, or demonic man? I hate titles and labels of all kinds."

He felt Marco's body go slack against him. Was that…had that been a bemused snort he'd heard?

"If what you say is true…if that is true, then your mother and father…?"

"They weren't entirely human either. My father was what I am, and my mother a woman who could charm hearts and plants alike. Or so I have heard."

The lord's ears picked up laughter, very faint, coming from Marco's lips. "Yes, she certainly always knew what emotion a person was feeling, and her gardening skills seemed almost divine. For that reason she seemed magical to me." Then, silence. "But your father…apart from his abnormal strength and courage in the face of any adversary, he seemed a normal man who was fond of food, drink and good company."

"He was a bit of an enigma, perhaps more similar to me than I'd like to admit," the lord said, his jaw stiff. He couldn't help himself; he knew Marco was aware of his dislike for his father, so he went ahead with his thoughts. "The most abnormal thing about the both of them was their all-consuming love for one another. It killed my mother and I _hate_ him for that."

Marco finally pulled away, his eyebrows matted together. "Your mother…your mother died in childbirth. I remember that she was pregnant a long time…too long."

"It's more complicated than that," the lord whispered. "I'll tell you, because I want you to know. This is something my grandfather, that crazy idiot, told me, but I know it is truth. My father was a pirate; I'm sure you know this already."

Marco nodded, and the lord felt his head turn in towards his own. Despite an urge coming over him, he forced himself to continue. "He was a legend. The King of the Pirates, renowned for his voyages to and through the New World. But he fell in love with a woman when he docked his ship in Sabaody's port. What he didn't realize was the depth of her love for him. The king found out and used it against him. So in return for this estate and her safety, he declared an unknown sickness and went to the king, where he died by the blade with only nobles and the navy present. They labelled him as a privateer to sully his name.

"He killed my mother in two ways. Incubus children kill their carriers, so I share the murder and the guilt that comes with it. But I'm convinced my father knew my birth would kill her, for how could he not know? Yet, she couldn't live without him, and so she would have died regardless of a love sickness, so my birth is irrelevant. That is the nature of incubi and their chosen mates. When one dies, the other follows. Tragic, isn't it?"

Marco was silent for a long time, and after a minute of standing, weak in the knees, he requested quietly to sit. They sat on a long chaise, for the lord steered him away from the solitary confinement of the small armchair. He arranged his arm gently around Marco's shoulders while the man mulled over the day's revelations many times in his mind…and how they fit into his perception of his past.

After a while, Marco heaved a great sigh. "Master Gol's disappearance makes utmost sense now. Yet we had thought he was genuinely ill at the time. Yet your mother must have known…indeed, now that I think of her face, her heartbreak and sorrow was greater than I could have ever known."

"Perhaps he was ill. Actually, he _probably_ was and Garp just didn't want to admit that much. It was a momentous victory for his faction, to 'kill' the Pirate King, so there's a chance he omitted certain details."

"…Garp, the famous vice-admiral of the navy, raised you?"

Lord Portgas snorted at the farce the name carried with it. "Garp couldn't even take care of the rats on his damn ship, _The Saint Bernard_. No, he left me with…others of my sort. I won't tell you the details, but they were a rowdy bunch of characters with good hearts."

They settled into a silence in which Marco stared at his master, his eyes running up and down his face. After a while, the lord had to look away and ask, "Well?"

"You don't look like I imagined a demon would. I have a hard time believing any of this."

The lord laughed as an absurd thought passed through his mind, just begging to be said. So he let it out. "Well then, I shall have to get you to accompany me to tea and supper with an old friend. Then you should have an enhanced view of the world. Only if you agree, of course."

Marco was presented with this dilemma, and much as he still felt the definite need to support his master, there was also a sticky and foul fear scratching away at his gut. Looking at the lord, who appeared so kind and open, with no hint of anger to be seen in any line on his face, his conscience insisted that he continue to do his duties to the best of his ability.

Then there were the conflicting emotions that the kiss had brought on, but Marco felt his wits would burn out if he contemplated that alongside everything else. It was a problem for another evening.

"I will go with you," he said. "Now…I should prepare supper while there is still natural light to do it."

He had never seen the lord beam so radiantly, and at him of all people. He thought the lord would either squeeze his shoulder with mild male affection or thank him profusely like the humblest of lords ought, and certainly did not expect that the other problem he had put on the side would resurface so soon.

Once again the lord held his cheek still and kissed him, closer than ever to reaching his lips. A blush coloured his cheeks as the freckled face withdrew and the lord eased himself away, making it clear that he wouldn't force more.

Before Marco could stutter and make a fool of himself, Lord Portgas said, "Marco, could you…call me Ace from now on? Formal titles are wearisome and serve to make a person feel old and more important than they really are."

Marco could easily recall the lord's distain for titles. He was untrusting of his voice to remain steady, so he nodded his understanding. Then he scurried away to the kitchen where he keeled over a counter with a palm flush against his lips to muffle any sounds, wondering what he had allowed himself to get into.

* * *

**A.N.: **Chapter summary: Ace's blood is bland in comparison with Lord Eustass'; Trafalgar vandalizes said lord's door with a sharp and pointy object; Marco does some remembering of Whitebeard's badassery; the scruffy sheepdog-thing arrives on Lord Eustass' estate and is given a name; Marco is shocked repeatedly and nearly hugged to death by his cheeky and horny master, who coincidentally thinks it's a good idea to invite Marco to a tea party…as if he hasn't already suffered a heart attack.

Also, guys, fair warning: I have exams coming up next month and I'm already quite behind with my university work, so updates may become sporadic soon!

**Up next**: A dead body or two, the return of Eustass' defaced door, and a tea party. Stay tuned!


	10. Chapter X

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter X

* * *

Lord Eustass examined the dead body of one of his former servants, which had been laid out on the table in the kitchen. The corpse remained affixed to the table with a sharp butcher knife through the heart. The servant was one of his boys whom he'd had around for a while. Long enough to know the brat's name, at least.

"Caught him stealing money from your stores. I gave him plenty of chances to return it. Did you know he made a weekly habit of it?"

"I had no idea," the lord answered, turning his gaze to the hunched form of his housekeeper. Killer was sitting on the kitchen counter like a boy sits on a fence to watch cattle, his hands against the ledge and his back bowed concavely. He wore clothing now, very avant-garde fashions that had been brought in from the west side of Sabaody at Lord Eustass' beck and call.

Eustass himself preferred the high fashions of the west, the styles in which furs from small game were sewn together and made coats of among other things. He had on an unbuttoned and loose fitting white shirt and patterned slacks, which went marvellously with his newest servant's spotted silk shirt.

"Killer, dispose of the body in the gardens near the pond. And I will tell you only once that I don't give second chances. Once my good favour is lost, it is lost forever. Next time, don't wait to make a move."

"Noted, Master," the demon said. He scratched at his head, untangling an unruly curl of blond hair. In addition to the clothes to cover his body, the lord had gotten a sort of helm commissioned from an armoury nearby. It was a helm made for a knight, with a facemask and breathing slits along the front. Killer had subtly requested it in a passing comment made about the way Eustass' other housekeepers looked upon him with fear.

As they ought, for Killer had now proven himself to be worthy of fear.

As far as the lord was concerned, the creature could have whatever he wanted. So far Killer had cleaned up the entire estate, working mostly under the cloak of night, as was his preference.

Lord Eustass left his house demon to his own devices and strolled through his halls. The air was less stagnant and stale since he'd driven a knife into the heart of the old man. He hadn't thought he'd the mettle to do it, yet once the blade was in his hand and the arguments had started, he'd lost himself. It was a peculiar madness that had arrested his sense. He wasn't sure what to make of it, only knew that he was tense all the time, sexually insatiable, and deeply displeased.

Dark eyes and two glittering pairs of gold hoops occupied his mind.

The accursed demon doctor was never far from his thoughts, even when he suppressed his unruly emotions. Thoughts about him would always surface and he'd grapple with them, narrowly winning and putting the unwanted images and ideas back under the rubble that was heaped in his mind.

It was starting to get awfully taxing. Each fight he was getting closer to losing. Like an old horse whipped near to death in the coalfields, breaking point was imminent.

One of his older servants entered the hall in which he was pacing. The man stood off to the side, pressed as tightly as he could against the wall until he became but a fixture. For a few minutes Lord Eustass continued to storm past the man, back and forth down the hall. He found that pacing was the only way to keep his mind from idling and falling prey to _that_ vampire.

On the third or perhaps fourth pass, the servant finally voiced his concerns. "L-Lord Eustass, t-there is a mark upon t-the front of t-the estate. On t-the front door…"

"So?" barked the lord.

"It is a word, me thinks," the servant hastily replied.

The lord paused in his pacing. "So what word does _me thinks_ it is?" Lord Eustass asked none too nicely, spitting out his words upon the frightened servant.

The servant made a vague motion to indicate a shape, and the lord already knew he could not read, but his malice had prompted him to torture the man further. He grabbed the man's arm and marched him to the front door, throwing it open and passing through. He left it ajar to study the wood grains.

His eyes swept languidly across the crude letters carved in the wood, back and forth, pacing again. Finally he relinquished his grip on the servant and said: "It says _Cambion_, whatever that bloody well means."

The servant yelped, and the lord thought that perhaps his voice had startled the man, or that his nails had bitten into flesh. Yet he knew it was not so. The man was quite afraid of him, more so than before, looking between his pale skin and feral eyes and the word on the door.

Never before had a servant _dared_ to bolt from his presence.

He let the man go, however, too perplexed by the damage on his door and the unfamiliar word that had been engraved there. On a normal day he would have flogged his servant. Today was not a normal day by his standards.

Killer appeared in the doorway, lured there by the sound of alarm the servant had made. His metal helm gleamed in the afternoon sun as he, too, studied the door.

Eventually, Killer turned to him. "Is that true? Do you want me to find the one who did it? His scent is still strong…"

"Is what true?" growled the lord.

"That you are of demon and human descent," Killer replied slowly, studying the lord from behind his facemask. "I mean, I have had my suspicions, but one cannot pass judgement on scent alone."

To hear it so bluntly stated did not excite the lord into a frenzy of madness; it numbed him. He would be a liar to his own soul if he couldn't admit to himself that he'd often wondered what exactly he was. Now here was a theory that had crossed his mind a few times, always rebuked by his sense of pride. _He_ could not _possibly_ be a demon. That was just absurd.

Yet it made so much sense that he felt faint.

He turned and stalked back inside the house, plopping himself down in the nearest chair lest he find himself on the floor. Killer hovered around him, surprised to see his master sitting for the first time in hours.

A very toothy smile floated around in Eustass' mind, one that belonged to a peculiar doctor. He had once wished the man dead, but now he was more curious than irritated with him. A demon. That was something that the doctor certainly implied. He had been examining him this whole time, so how much did he know and how soon?

Lord Eustass was hot-headed, surely, but he was no fool. What was on the door could only be the doctor's methodical conclusion.

"Killer, tell me, what is a cambion?"

"'Tis a demon child from either a succubus or incubus and a human other. I have known one in my lifetime, and I can see similarities between him and yourself."

The lord couldn't suppress the need to know what those similarities were. Luckily, Killer had grown fond of his master in the short time they'd spent together. This man was fascinating, in his opinion, simply because he already had a hunch that this man was not purely a man.

"Well, for one, your skin is deathly pale," Killer told him. "Your eyes are sanguine when you're content, but your pupils shrink away when you are upset. It is easy to notice that when mine own eyes do the same. It's a demonic characteristic that is more prevalent in certain species."

Lord Eustass remained silent, contemplating the surprisingly intelligent words of his housekeeper. He had often stopped for a minute in front of one of the mirrors in his manor after a long bout of pacing and saw that which marked him out as a half-demon in Killer's eyes. He had noticed the unnatural pallor of his eyeballs and skin, and had certainly developed immunity to his ever-changing appearance at the same time his servants began to grow fearful.

Over the next few days, Lord Eustass continued to pace, his thoughts plagued by a vampire's grin and his desire for intimate company peaking. Twice he visited a brothel, but the women he had did nothing to abate the ache. If anything, the burning only intensified.

Also over a span of a few days, the servants of the household left unannounced, fleeing for their lives as their master became increasingly violent, throwing knives and smashing architectural fixtures over the smallest of concerns. In vile response to the flights of his workers and wishing to test his new companion, the lord sent Killer to stalk them during the night, and to fetch them back.

Come morning, Killer brought only their heads affixed to a metal stake. With that, Lord Eustass concluded that he had one very important task for his blond boggart, one that would include the vampire that had so clearly made a mockery of him.

-oOo-

Dr. Trafalgar lounged in his saloon, an expansive room that had been built to accommodate a crowd. Across from him, sitting squarely on the edge of a bowed divan, was a great giant baring his teeth. Apart from the teeth, however, there was nothing truly intimidating about him. Not in the doctor's opinion, with his being the most important in the household anyway.

"Ah, so that is the story. Well, I'm terribly sorry those humans wished to capture and enslave you. I can assure you that they got their just deserves and met very bitter ends."

The giant nodded his massive head, strands of dark unkempt hair splashing into his face. His voice was a deep and grating rumble, a rockslide coming down the face of a mountain. "I know. I heard their screams as they were slain. Thank you."

Trafalgar hummed, bouncing his knee up and down as he thought about the prejudices the giant must hold against those who walked on two legs and possessed no demonic qualities. It would be a precarious situation to hold a tea party combining the two races. "I feel I should warn you that there may very well be humans in attendance tonight. But they will be harmless. Not those that have caused you so much grief."

"I'll think of them as flies on the wall," the giant assured him.

Trafalgar conceded that such imaginings would likely be the best he could get out of the giant and dropped the subject. "How would you like me to introduce you?"

The giant thought for a few minutes before answering him. "Jean Bart," he said at length.

Trafalgar nodded, and then asked for the sake of keeping up conversation: "How do you take your tea?"

"I did not know vampires knew how to make tea."

"You'll find vampires are quite accomplished, my friend." No sooner had the words left his mouth than a frenzied knocking upon the front door of the estate echoed through Trafalgar's home. He let loose a short laugh. "Well, it seems the guests are beginning to arrive. Will you bring them in, Shachi?"

Shachi jumped up from behind the hearth, where he'd been studying the giant from afar, and raced across the room and down the hall. More knocks were heard before they ceased, and Trafalgar's ears picked up on an exclamation of surprise.

"Oh, what a delightful creature!"

The doctor grimaced, for he had the feeling that Shachi was to be a pampered noble for the evening rather than his faithful little servant. He was right when a troupe of miscreants entered the drawing room, with a woman hugging Shachi close to her breast as if he were a precious doll. Trafalgar could not tell if his housekeeping demon was incredibly uncomfortable or quite the opposite, in a state of degenerate bliss.

"Miss Nami, you should put him down before he suffocates," advised a familiar voice that Trafalgar was quick to get to his feet for.

"Miss Robin," greeted the host, extending a hand towards the ebony-haired beauty that trailed behind Shachi's captor. She was more alluring than all of the king's courtesans, wearing a dark velvet dress that fit her curvaceous body. "It is an absolute _pleasure _to see you looking so healthy. In fact, you seem perkier than I remember."

"Thank you, doctor," Robin said with a mock smile. She allowed the man to raise her knuckles to his lips and press a firm, entirely suggestive kiss to her skin. Quick as a flash, a blur of blond severed their connection.

"Hey, watch who you're slobbering over, ya shi–"

"Sanji, he's simply an acquaintance and our host for the evening."

The man who'd broken them up by the forceful insertion of his own body into the space between the two snorted. The resentment in his glare did not recede.

"Sanji, this is Dr. Trafalgar Law. Doctor, this is the Straw Hat's new seafaring chef. He hails from overseas, but luckily his fame brought him to our shores."

The doctor said nothing, his smug smile daring Sanji to make a discourteous move first in his own lodgings. Sanji kept his composure surprisingly well, and the introductions continued with less of an unwelcome edge.

"Miss Nami is our navigator and treasurer." Nami, shapely in a brightly coloured gown and beaming at the whale-like demon the doctor employed, took little notice of anything else. So Robin moved on. "Toni Toni Chopper is our ship's doctor," Robin said next.

Trafalgar looked down to the ground to find a beast quite alike to his Shachi in size. It was a shapeshifter, that much he could tell, but this one was admittedly deer-like in appearance and did not have much more in common with Bepo other than the fact of his species.

"I'm not a raccoon," the creature assured him.

"I was not under that impression. You are some sort of rudiment animal, are you not?"

He was not anticipating the love and admiration that was immediately awarded to him for such a remark.

Next was the decidedly peculiar, unfashionable mason Trafalgar had seen around town who'd constructed a ship for the Straw Hats, revealing admirable shipbuilding assets. This impressed Trafalgar, but the brutish man was more interested in the portable cellar that held his stores of blood and kept them fresh. Apparently, it was a 'super sublime' invention. Trafalgar left him to his tenacious examining. A long-nosed man with shaggy hair joined him; Robin told the doctor that he was a great problem solver named Usopp.

"Where is Straw Hat himself? And the tiger-man?" Trafalgar asked Robin when he noticed their absence.

"Oh, Zoro got lost in the forest and Luffy volunteered to go get him. We let him go off on his own provided that he take our travelling musician along. They'll show up eventually; Brook isn't one to miss a party, especially when he can provide the entertainment. I believe you'll find him to be the most fascinating one out of us all."

Trafalgar decided he would hold the vampiress to her words and introduced the party to Jean Bart. The giant, he could see plainly, was amazed that the guests were not giving him strange looks, and Trafalgar guessed that the giant fancied himself one of the more sensible of the eclectic bunch that were at times positively absurd. Luckily, Robin took an interest in him, since she'd often wondered when she'd get the chance to meet Dr. Trafalgar's backyard begriser and share tea with him, as the doctor had once nearly promised her.

The doctor left the house to go outside just as Shachi managed to struggle out of Nami's hold and begin distributing tea and biscuits. He could hear a healthy clamour and guessed that the Straw Hat's cook was rummaging through the kitchen. He had anticipated this. He and Robin had been exchanging letters prior to this evening, and he had the basic profiles of all those in attendance, with the exception of Brook, whom Miss Nico chose to keep a secret.

Outside, Bepo had been given the duty of roasting the meat for the evening. It was a grand catch from deep within the forest, and Bepo had only volunteered for the task because it meant he could likely sneak the most delicate parts of the beast into his expansive stomach.

The doctor caught him at it, but did not hit him over the head for his deviance on account of a rush of hooves outside the manor.

"Holla, Lawsie!"

He turned to a beaming horseman with an antsy steed and his companion on a palomino mare. "Ace! You brought company. Well, the more the merrier." Even as Trafalgar uttered those words he judged Marco, who was gripping the pommel of his saddle tightly and staring wide-eyed at the white, almost spectral bear consuming something roasting on an open fire.

The doctor smiled as he approached to steady both horses. The horses did not favour his questionable aura, and they shied away only to submit when he showed them he would do no harm. Paying particular attention to the lord's valet, Trafalgar said, "Do not worry; Bepo is the least of your worries. He's a harmless creature."

Marco appeared hesitant to dismount, and Trafalgar was surprised when his partner gently coaxed him down with a tender hand on his calf. It appeared that, in the short span of time Trafalgar had seen the two last, the men had become somewhat more intimate with one another.

He could only guess, and simply guessing brought a wicked grin to his face that he concealed beneath the collar of his ulster.

"Come inside and meet the guests. They're a friendly bunch." Trafalgar motioned for them to follow, and he could see the hesitation in Marco's stare. He didn't expect anything less. He figured the lord would have briefed his servant on who might choose to attend the evening, but of course nothing could prepare a nonbeliever for the real, often frightening thing.

He was unsure if he was irritated with Lord Portgas for bringing his valet or intrigued by the decision.

"Who do you have over tonight?" asked the lord, and Trafalgar could hear the nervous edge to the lord's tone. He knew his friend did not want names.

He rattled some of the attendees off on his tattooed fingers. "A mountain giant, whom is recovering and really quite amiable, all things considering; a few shapeshifters, including dear Bepo; Robin, the lovely vampiress; a chef of high calibre, though his manners are otherwise; and that is the noteworthy ones I shall warn you of."

"Oh, Robin? I'd thought she'd set sail with my brother."

Trafalgar grinned. It was the surprise he was planning on keeping for a while longer. Hence he said nothing as they entered and were assaulted by the sounds of a party in full swing. Someone had found the stashed alcohol that he had been planning on saving for later and announced it to everyone else. Well, that and Shachi always made the tea with a dash of the strongest liquor to be purchased at Sabaody's marketplace.

Lord Portgas was surprised and pleased that Marco at least knew Franky. He introduced Marco to the two people he knew in what he thought to be the most painless way, which involved him simply parading Marco about the room with a supportive arm curled around his back. The touch alighted in him a fierce protectiveness, and he did well to keep his fiery emotions from erupting. More than once the thought of taking Marco away from the party and deeper into Trafalgar's manor sat at the forefront of his mind.

Out of those of demonic blood, they first approached the vampiress. "Robin, my dear, I'd like to introduce you to Marco. Marco, this is the lovely Miss Nico."

Marco was reluctant to take her hand in greeting, but upon seeing how nothing wicked happened and how warmly Robin regarded him, he relaxed his stance. Besides, his master had assured him that if anything problematic to his health appeared, he would be the first to react. While it wasn't outright stated, Marco had understood that the lord meant to protect him if anything went wrong.

He was unsure whether to be comforted by this fact or offended.

Marco continued to round the room with the lord at his side, and felt better knowing that the man with the confidence of a king didn't know many of the attendees. He memorized names as best he could: Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Robin and Franky… When it came to Jean Bart, the introduction was rather chilly on both fronts, and Marco didn't let it affect him much. The giant was intimidating enough; he didn't want to incense it any further. So he crossed the room in a casual retreat to a safe place he'd been eying since they entered Dr. Trafalgar's humble abode. Then he found his trousers were being tugged.

He looked down to see a hat covering some sort of brown fluff. "'Ello, I'm Chopper."

Marco blinked, his heart oddly calm considering he'd just been spoken to by an animal in a top hat. "Marco."

The hat bobbed in a friendly manner. "I'm a shapeshifter and a doctor. My pure form is that of a reindeer."

"I'm a human. Nothing too fancy," Marco said with a hesitant smile as the reindeer's cap fell back just enough to expose two doe eyes and a tiny bluish nose. He couldn't help but think there was nothing at all scary about this creature; it was just unnatural for something like that to speak.

"I like sweet things."

"Me too, when I can get them."

"Hot chocolate is good on a winter day," the reindeer said next.

"Oh, I agree."

Marco could hardly believe he was having a conversation with a fluff the size of the giant dust bunnies he'd cleaned out of the attic last spring, yet the ease with which he was able to speak to Chopper made him believe that maybe going along with Lord Portgas tonight was not going to get him killed, maimed, or hexed to the deepest pit in Hell.

The lord, after seeing Marco comfortable with the hoofed doctor, went off to visit with Trafalgar and ask where Luffy was. He had, by now, figured out that Trafalgar was holding this party not for himself, but for a certain patient he had helped out in the past.

After a while, Robin joined Marco and Chopper, taking a seat beside the flustered man on a sofa. Marco was especially wary of her, having heard his master say she was a vampiress, and Robin noted the rigidity in his posture. This did nothing to stop her from enquiring after his health.

"How are you tonight, Mr. Marco?" She sipped daintily from something unseen in a teacup, and Marco's imagination filled in the blanks. She had been served her drink last, and that was all the indication Marco needed to come to morbid conclusions.

Still, he managed to keep his voice steady. "Well, thank you. And yourself, Madame?"

Robin gave him a small smile and Marco could swear that there were iridescent white fangs just barely peeking out from her mouth, leaving miniscule indents on her rouge lips. "Not hungry, if that does anything to ease your fear of me."

Much to her surprise, Marco chuckled diffidently. "Not hungry? That I am glad of."

They retired to watching some of the Straw Hats fight amongst one another over foodstuffs, port wine, and the right to manhandle Shachi as if he were a pet. Nami won the latter, as there were no other competitors to challenge her. Chopper merely appeared relieved that Nami wasn't the one politely gushing over him and petting the fur on his cheeks.

Marco watched Shachi intently after discovering that he was not looking at a young boy. He was privy to the sharp, alien teeth, the slits on his neck that reminded him of an aquatic fish's, and the unnaturally spiky hair that came out from under his casquette.

He also paid attention to every movement the giant made. Though the giant didn't move often, every time he did so much as shift in his seat to speak a word to Trafalgar, a thunderous creak caught in Marco's sensitive ears. He wouldn't hesitate to admit that the massive giant unnerved him.

Someone started telling a tall tale about pirates. Marco remembered his name was Usopp. The fervour and detail with which Usopp told his story made Marco wonder if he'd actually been witness to such miraculous events. Nonetheless it amused him, and almost all the others, to no end. Time passed enough that Dr. Trafalgar called for a meal to be served. They all got up to relocate, some faster than others. Marco trailed behind, watching the Straw Hats make a beeline for the dinning room. That was when Marco got a closer look of Bepo, the bearish beast.

He nearly walked into the creature's face.

"Uh," Marco muttered, the beast having come around the corner from out of nowhere. His pale fur smelled like smoke and his muzzle was tainted a colour that suggested his part in the hunting of the meal.

"_I'm sorry_," the beast said, moving aside as much as he could. The movement was not much, considering the size of the hall in proportion to the size of the beast's hairy stomach. "_Please pass. Sorry again for getting in your way._"

Marco shook his head as if to excuse the bear, his eyes drawn to the gleaming fangs that poked out of his furred mouth. Behind him, Robin laughed lightly. Her ease with the situation was somehow a comfort and certainly spurred Marco on. By now he had lost Ace to the labyrinth of halls, but he could guess that his master had begun to follow his nose. He could smell the scent of cooked meat as well, and Shachi had snuck out of Nami's range not too long ago to prepare something for his master's guests…

It struck him as odd how easily and willingly the Straw Hats spoke to him and their companionability with one another reminded him of a time when he was on the ocean, sailing for a brighter future than the one presented in his early childhood. He recalled the waves that Usopp had talked into being with clarity, and remembered the cries of the gulls overhead and the tangy smell of the salt water.

He wondered if one day he might return to the ocean.

It was certainly a harder life than the one he led on dry land. He quite liked having fresh fruits and meat instead of hard tack and enjoyed how much nicer his clothes smelt when washed in water rather than the piss of sailors. Yes, he certainly would not miss that rancid smell. No, a life on land was much easier, but was it less fulfilling? His thoughts wandered on that question.

His lord was here, and so he would stay for now and deal with everything to young man thrust upon him. After all, he hadn't had an adventure like this in a long, long time.

They all sat down to eat at an extensive table laden with delights: meats, vegetable stew, pies with unknown fillings, and many more dishes that Marco had never seen before, much less knew the names of. He attempted to seat Lord Portgas himself, but the attempt was thwarted by the same man who instead pushed him down into a chair with a cheeky grin.

"Manners are nowhere to be found when you dine with pirates and demonic beings," the lord told him, taking a seat beside Marco. Robin, much to Marco's relief, sat down next to him. It was her or the mountain giant, and Marco wasn't sure he could handle the earthy stink of the latter. Jean Bart sat at one end of the table, and there was an evening breeze coming through a window that pushed his smell far away from the delightful aroma of the food.

Marco silently thanked the higher powers for their divine meddling.

"Enjoy," the doctor said plainly with a tiny half smile. Everyone already had knife and fork in hand, and more than a few mouths were stuffed to the point of being unable to reply to their host.

After a while, the story Marco had been so smitten with was continued by its creator.

"Usopp, the gold fish was _not _the size of a sea king!" Nami cried, throwing a carrot out of the vegetable stew. It landed on Usopp's plate, uncannily resembling the man's long nose. "Don't bloody well lie at this holy table."

"Holy is not the word I would have used for it, Miss Nami," the cook piped up, eying their host scrupulously.

"I wonder when Luffy's going to show up," Chopper mused, ignoring the argument brewing to the east of his tiny antlers. Lord Portgas, too, lamented the lateness of his younger brother. Marco heard all about the captain of the Straw Hats in a matter of minutes, and he had to admit the young man sounded like a handful. He wasn't sure if he ever wanted to meet such a crazy person. Then again, he would likely be a lot friendlier than the giant.

"You'll like him." Everyone kept assuring Marco and Jean Bart in intervals. "He's a complete idiot, but that's what makes him so loveable."

"Hey, save some for the idiot," Nami said as Usopp snuck another pastry when he thought nobody was looking. "Do you guys even _know_ how upset he'll be if we eat everything?"

"Oh, we know," the crew chorused.

"I left the door ajar. Hopefully he'll catch a whiff of the food and come running in at gazelle speed, as he is liable to do." Dr. Trafalgar raised a glass to his lips and took the tiniest of sips. He sat at the other end of the table, at its head, and hadn't touched a single food item yet, much like Robin.

"The way everyone keeps talking about him makes me think of some kind of wild animal," Marco whispered to his lord. Despite his poor nerves he still managed to eat a plateful of food, since he so rarely was given the chance to indulge himself and wanted to make the most of things.

The man snickered and said, "Well, he is kind of a monkey."

Marco was alarmed to hear that.

Sanji, who had cooked the meal alongside Shachi, moved to clear away the plates from the ladies present. There was still plenty left over, and it was when a dull conversation concerning the weather outside (Nami's topic of choice) began to settle on the table that a certain monkey burst into the room.

Confusion followed as a lean man, very similar to his lord, Marco noted, sucked up the remainder of the food on the table like he was some sort of raving hungry beast.

Exclamations of "Luffy!" were shouted, and Marco was surprised when Lord Portgas flung an arm around the younger man's shoulders, then turned the friendly embrace into a headlock that resulted in choking.

"You should at least greet everyone before devouring everything in sight!" The older brother of the two did his rebuking forcefully, and Marco could clearly see who had a slight advantage over the other, at least when it came to muscle. Luffy, reprimanded, tried to spew out an apology, but the only thing that went spewing out was the particles of food already halfway down his gullet.

"Sorry! Hello, people and reserve meat!" Chopper, Marco could see, was clearly appalled and hid his face in his hooves. "Hey, where's Zoro and Brook?"

Nami and the rest of Straw Hat Luffy's crew looked at him incredulously. Then they shouted, nearly in unison, "I thought they would be with you!"

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Luffy looked around, his fingers wandering towards a pastry that quickly disappeared in a flash of teeth and moving lips. "Brook went to find a luthier to repair his violin bow."

"Out in the middle of nowhere?" Franky asked, somewhat perturbed.

"Naw, he went into town. I guess?"

"So what about Zoro?" Dr. Chopper asked with a twitch of his button nose.

Luffy laughed, the same golden, radiant laugh that Marco was already acquainted with. Of course, it was no where near the same tone and pitch of his lord's, but the odd warmness that was intrinsically expressed with it reminded Marco instantly of the older sibling. He found himself smiling, though Luffy had yet to even acknowledge him.

"Zoro got eaten."

"_What_?!"

"Naw, he's fine. I think. He probably sliced the mountain lion in half. Traffy, I didn't think you had mountain lions up here."

Dr. Trafalgar shrugged his shoulders in the subtle manner of one who thought himself the most important fixture of a room. "Neither did I," he said. "But weird things seem to follow that crew of yours. So, are you going to let me take a look at that wound on your chest or will I be made to wait while you gorge yourself on the food that sits on my table?"

With a flourish of his gangly arms, Luffy ripped off his red vest and tattered undershirt, exposing a rather nasty scar upon his chest. The skin appeared raw and patchy as if it had been meticulously put back together. It was in the shape of a skewed cross, and Marco couldn't imagine how one could even be given such a horrific wound.

"Luffy, that's rather indecent," Robin said with a soft giggle that Marco only heard because he was sitting next to her.

"I'm a _pirate_."

"You're a _pig_," Nami said with a roll of her cerulean eyes. In response, Luffy stuffed the shank of a swine into his mouth. Marco had never seen someone eat with so much fervour.

No, it reminded him of the boy's older brother. Only there was clearly less discretion for manners. All at once relief flooded through him. He could have been stuck with this man for a master instead of Lord Portgas. Thank goodness Fate had decided otherwise.

Marco had just begun to relax thinking about his good fortune when a man with moss green hair strutted in carrying an unsheathed sword over one shoulder.

"What did I miss?"

"You're damned late you directionless piece of sentient moss. Only a shithead like you could get so hopelessly lost pursuing a kitten," Sanji said. It had been a while since he'd last raised his voice against the crowd, and the room fell silent in anticipation of Zoro's response.

"That fucking cat could have killed a twig-legged cook like you." Zoro's voice contained traces of aggression that made Marco slightly unnerved. That and the blood soaked into the man's garb was rather off-putting.

"Like hell it could."

"Gentleman, shut up," Nami said. "Nobody wants to hear your bickering!"

Zoro grunted with mild indifference while Sanji turned a beaming grin on her. "Yes, Miss Nami! Zoro here is just an incompetent fool, and I thought it best everyone were warned of that."

Luffy decided, in between bites of pastry filling, to throw himself into the argument in the wake of his navigator. "Hey, Zoro. What happened to the mountain lion?"

"I ate it."

"I take it you're no longer hungry, then?" Dr. Trafalgar said with a tiny smile.

Zoro sheathed his sword and fixed it to his clothing, an interesting stomach ring of abrasive fabric that Marco had never seen before. "A man can always stomach a pint of brew. I smell rum. That's why I came. I don't like coming near the likes of you otherwise."

Dr. Trafalgar did not look shocked to hear that, though many sitting at the table sputtered in disbelief. "I enjoy conversing with someone as frank as yourself, Zoro. Help yourself to the port wine."

"I certainly will. Thanks."

The conversation certainly became livelier after that. Marco watched Zoro and Sanji both get increasingly drunk and more volatile, with Nami constantly interjecting their arguments with hateful remarks of her own that were more or less as rude as her male counterparts. Franky and Usopp cracked dirty jokes that amused Robin at the expense of baffling the innocent reindeer shapeshifter, who kept asking for an analysis of the witticisms. Luffy punched his older brother a few times playfully and got battered himself. At the same time, everyone seemed to have a profound respect for each other and, dare Marco even think it, a deep love for at least one other individual in the room, with the obvious exception of the newcomer Jean Bart.

He felt a pang of longing for such closeness.

He watched Dr. Trafalgar enlist the help of Bepo in pinning down Straw Hat Luffy, who certainly wore his straw hat proudly upon his head during the course of the evening. The doctor wished to examine Luffy's chest, and from what Marco gathered, the doctor had been the one to patch Luffy's grievous injury up. Of course, Luffy would only stay still if there was a steady stream of food being put within easy reach of his thin, supple fingers, and that was about when Shachi became a real help to his master.

"Bunch of lunatics, huh?" Lord Portgas remarked, looping an arm around Marco's shoulders and pulling him close. "And my brother, the biggest lunatic of them all."

"They're nice enough," Marco said as Luffy slammed his fist into Zoro's face for making some kind of observation at his expense. After that, the talking bear let him go and Trafalgar quietly receded into the background. Marco couldn't help but notice how the doctor never really ran his banquet like a true host, but rather let it run itself. His obvious passivity was quite interesting, even when someone picked up one of his pieces of cutlery and hurled it at another.

Only Sanji got angry when he saw Zoro toss a kitchen knife in Luffy's direction with no real intent to maim.

One by one, voices tapered off and Marco became aware of a violin being played. It was a pleasing sound that brought a certain tranquility to the party, and Nami kicked someone under the table in order to usher in a silence from them. The violin became louder and more erratic, and Marco began to grin along with his lord. What a talented musician, he thought as he listened to the quick succession of notes that raised from within him emotions that had long fell dormant.

There had been musicians on Whitebeard's ships.

"Truly a sporadic bit of music – a piece of capriccio, wouldn't you say?" Dr. Trafalgar whispered to Marco, appearing beside him like a phantom and melding into the background just as quickly. Marco had merely turned his head when Trafalgar was already across the room, seated in an armchair with his wineglass.

Out of all of people in the room, Trafalgar unnerved him in the most indescribable way. Knowing he was a vampire was one thing. Knowing he was a vampiric doctor that had lived in Sabaody for years and seen many patients was quite another.

Marco stood up with a few others, banishing thoughts of Trafalgar from his mind. He hung about as the violin came to a crashing halt and a rollicking laugh filled the silence. Since Marco was nearest to the hall from which most of the guests had been emerging, he did not remove himself. He wanted to see _who_ exactly this magnificent musician was.

Nothing could have prepared him to come nearly face to face with a cackling skeleton.

A glimpse of shiny molars and empty eye sockets made Marco keel – backwards. Luckily, as had been the trend of the night, Lord Portgas was right there beside him. Or in this very lucky case, behind him.

Dr. Trafalgar once again appeared beside Marco, his limp form cradled by the strong arms of his alarmed lord. "You know, Ace, your valet did better than I thought he would; he _almost_ made it through the night."

* * *

**A.N.: **Taking a break from studying for exams to post this…hah. The next chapter will have the conclusion of the tea party and an amusing (in my opinion) take on Brook's boniness.

Skull joke? Good grief, I think I need to go to sleep before I type something embarrassing.

Oh, and for those of you who are waiting for _Dance_ to update again: I AM working on chapter sixteen, believe it or not. It's just extremely slow-going as I have a major block with that story and the next chapter is rather…actiony. If you catch my drift.


	11. Chapter XI

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter XI

* * *

It was not hard to see why Marco had fainted. Lord Portgas himself was in shock by the undead appearing on Trafalgar's doorstep, violin in hand and bow poised to begin a new ditty.

Dr. Trafalgar, for all his credit, could not keep his hands off of this musician.

"Positively sublime," he kept muttering. "To see someone like you."

"Yohohoho! Miss Nami, may I see your undergarments? I have come all this way, just to see under your petticoat."

"What a deviant skeleton," Jean Bart mumbled. Throughout the night, he'd seldom spoken his thoughts, and everyone turned to him when they heard his deep, gravelly voice. Then they silently agreed.

"You're a louse!" Nami shouted in response.

The skeleton appeared slightly put-off by Nami's fury. "Is that a no?" he quietly questioned.

Robin escorted Nami from the room before she could break some bones.

"So, you are Brook?" Trafalgar asked with obvious interest. He had already offered to take the skeleton's coat, but had been refused. It was rare for Trafalgar to offer anything, much less in a manner of a servant.

"I am Brook! Travelling musician and Straw Hat pirate under the infamous Monkey D. Luffy!"

"Oh, he's infamous in this household alright," Trafalgar said with a snicker. Images of the half-dead man with a massive wound on his chest flew to mind. The blood had made a mess of his floors that day. It had taken days for Shachi to mop it all up and remove the stains. It had smelt good at the time though, Trafalgar had to admit.

As if recalling the exact same thing, Shachi sent a look of distain in the direction of a certain man before slinking away to the kitchen.

Dr. Trafalgar motioned for Brook to have a seat at his leisure. "If you don't mind, Brook, I would like to have a chat with you about your…intriguing condition. Can I get you tea?"

"Yohohoho, _yes_, tea with a spattering of milk would be most _welcome_. These bones get dry and brittle if I don't keep them moist!" Trafalgar slunk off, casting a look at a sofa where Lord Portgas had laid his servant down and was currently fawning over him. The man hadn't even the sense to check Marco's vitals, so the doctor quickly examined his friend's valet before going to request Shachi make a new kettle of tea. He wasn't about to become _too_ much of a servant.

When the tea was finished, he brought it in and served it to the bony, curiously connected joints of the undead's hands, which in itself was an experience he decided he would write down in his notebook later. Then he sat next to the skeleton, who drank his tea sparingly.

"Ah, this is delicious. If I had a tongue, I would tell you it tastes superb, but alas, I have only – oh! Luffy, save me some of those pastries!"

Trafalgar sighed and tried for conversation, crossing his legs and folding his tanned hands in his lap. "Mr. Brook, if you will be so kind as to tell me the story of how you became like that. If it is not such a touchy topic, of course."

"Oh, there is no problem! Why, it's not a scary story at all. I detest scary stories. Well, my tale begins _after_ my death, as all stories of the undead must begin." The skeleton made that high-pitched, garbling laugh once more. It reminded Trafalgar of a dying songbird. "No, actually I lived during the greatest Renaissance of them all – a musician then, too. I used to sail on the greatest carrack of the time and play a mean fiddle for the crew, but alas I ended my life on land in the graveyard of a crazy old witch. She was a good sort, a friend if ever there was one, and when I passed she dug me a good grave and dumped my body into it.

"Her name was Kureha. I believe she was a doctor. Very peculiar woman; Chopper says she was a great inspiration to him, and I gave him some of her old texts that I happened to carry with me after the…incident."

Brook twiddled his beyond emancipated fingers. "So I died. And when I died, I was given a good burial. But, see, the old graveyard where we lived and I died was surrounded by urchins lookin' to get a quick penny, so I didn't stay buried for long. Body snatchers, they were pretty quick at digging me up, but Kureha caught 'em and speared a few with knives before they could carry my body to an anatomist for experimentation. Then she did something quite odd that neither she nor I expected; she raised the dead. Old Absalom and I, we just came out of the ground quite alive and well, though by that point the maggots had done a number on me and him. Quick little buggers."

"Necromancy," Trafalgar stated, impossibly intrigued by the way the skeleton's jaw moved with the tinniest of clicks. "Now, I imagine the old witch has passed by this time in history. A shame, too, for I would've been interested in meeting her."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so certain. She isn't exactly an easy one to kill, you could say."

Trafalgar kept his thoughts to himself.

"So after frightening the daylights out of the body snatchers and hanging about with Kureha, I journeyed for some time, got lost in the Bermuda Triangle after getting on an accursed ship, and was just recently rescued by a certain intrepid Monkey." Said young man didn't pause in consuming pastries, and Brook looked over with alarm at the dwindling stack. "Hey, Luffy, leave some for me!"

"Quite an adventure, by any account," the doctor said in conclusion. That would be the last they spoke for the remainder of the night. He joined Lord Portgas in trying to revive his valet, but in the end they settled on harnessing the lord's horses together and lending him a carriage. Shachi was decided upon to be the driver, and would take them home and return in the morning. The carriage and equipment would be retrieved at Trafalgar's earliest convenience.

With Marco loaded up outside and the horses anxious and prancing, Lord Portgas found his brother. As was the norm with the two, their parting did not end with farewells.

"Don't do anything too idiotic," the elder brother cautioned.

"Ace, you do stupid stuff, too!" Luffy fired back, making Lord Portgas' neck bulge with indignation. "Besides, I have a crew to back me up now."

"A good crew, if a bit small," the lord replied, a hint of sadness threatening to creep into his tone. "Still, try to avoid having run-ins with the navy. I don't want to hear about you being pressed into service or worse."

Luffy scoffed. "As if they can take me alive. I won't surrender. Not now, not ever."

"You're going to get it then?"

"The One Piece? Yeah. Then you can rest peacefully without people harassing ya."

"He's going to be the King!" Everyone either laughed raucously or snickered at the drunkard that had shouted that. Lord Portgas could only beam cheerfully and depart before anyone could see the proud tears clinging to his eyelashes. He had a feeling, however, that Dr. Trafalgar knew his emotions when he thanked him for the party and his attentions to Marco's wellbeing.

He would try not to worry too much, he promised himself as the horses pulled against their harnesses, taking them away.

-oOo-

Lord Eustass watched the sun set from a window. It was nearly time. He called Killer to his side.

"I'm here, Master."

The lord had waited all day, in agony, for dusk to fall. He had conceived a plan yesterday, an idea that Killer had helped him to grow. When pressed, Killer had told him that sometimes the only way to be rid of an attraction was to completely destroy the source.

But he could not destroy Trafalgar. It would be impossible to bring himself to that brink of life and death with that man again. Killer had informed him that he was attached to the man he so loathed by the uncontrollable force of his demon nature.

In response, Lord Eustass devised a plot to obliterate Trafalgar without ever seeing his raccoon eyes gleaming at him from the cloak of darkness again. It was a simple plot, admittedly, but it would be effective.

Killer was to destroy Trafalgar on his orders.

The creature had agreed with some visible reservation to his plan, and had been bustling about the house in a whirlwind of activity to make the time pass more quickly. He would not leave in daylight, that the lord made clear, as doing so would possibly allow the doctor to combat him. Of course, Lord Eustass well knew that Trafalgar was just as effective at night as in the day, only the lord was betting on a hunch that the man would not be expecting to be ambushed in his home during the evening hours.

"Go. Kill him. The postmaster has informed me that he gets his mail on the outskirts of the Boin Forrest. A pheasant boy brings it to his doorstep every day. It should be no problem for you to find that scent and track it." He turned to regard his masked assassin. Underneath the metallic bars of the helmet, Killer pursed his thin lips.

"I understand your orders. But Master, would it seem too outlandish to ask whether or not a possible union is in order between the two of you? It is not…unheard of, especially not for beings of the night."

Lord Eustass stared at him in disbelief. How dare his servant ask him to toss aside his indescribable hate for the vampire and join hands with him? How utterly hideous the thought was. Yet he couldn't help but think having Trafalgar as his own personal slave, to use whenever the urge arose, would be beneficial to his health. However, the chances of such coming true were less likely than a benevolent and equal unification between the lord and the doctor. Those odds were nonexistent.

"That is a thought I mock! Ludicrous lunacy, that is what it is! He would sooner kill me, and I him. I only want to move quicker than he, for if I don't he'll come in the night once more and feast on my blood. Then where does that get me? Sucked dry and dead, that's what." Lord Eustass made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Vampires are parasitic killers. That is the lore surrounding them."

"Not necessarily," Killer muttered to himself as his lord spun around and started towards the nearest window. He often stopped to gaze out as if paranoid something was lurking just beyond his courtyard. Killer knew he was waiting, conscious or not, for the one his sights were knowingly and unknowingly set on.

"Get rid of him. Kill him and bring back his body. I'll display his head on my mantelshelf as a reminder of how I overcame this apparent weakness."

Though Killer did not fully approve of the nature of his orders, as he did not believe the outcome to be best for his lord, he would not question them. He could only try to obey them as best he could. "I won't disappoint you, Master," Killer said, disappearing into the shadows.

Lord Eustass heard a faint _thump_ and knew Killer had exited the manor and begun his assignment. He sighed and leaned against a wall with his shoulders slumped forward. In the past few days he'd been so high-strung and explosive, and now he suffered exhaustion. He hadn't slept much. He hadn't eaten much. He was very much so a wreck.

It was all Trafalgar's fault, and it would end tonight.

He looked down at his body and groaned. Even the simplest of thoughts about the man conjured up a physical ache in his slacks. He was alone in his home with no servants and their prying eyes; for Killer had obliterated every single other being that wronged him in some way. He could do anything he wanted without having to hide himself away in his bedchamber.

He chose the path of sweet relief.

-oOo-

Slowly, Marco came to his senses. The constant shifting of his body was cause for alarm and he tensed, sleepily, registering encompassing warmth that brought him some degree of comfort. He felt grooming fingers run through his hair, soft and careful not to wake him.

He breathed deeply, sputtering a bit as his breath caught in his throat. It was enough to alert Lord Portgas to his valet's consciousness.

"Ah, you're finally awake. I was worried."

Marco blinked in the semi-darkness, aware of two lights on either side of him that were close yet distant. It took him a moment as he lay, undulating like a boat on rough seas, to come around to the idea that he was in a carriage with lanterns on the side, and that his head was currently cushioned by his lord's lap.

He was appalled by his lack of duty to his master and sat bolt upright.

Lord Portgas grabbed him, two strong arms wrapping around his chest. "It's okay! The skeleton man is far behind us now, don't worry. He was harmless. I'm so sorry, Marco. I never would have put you in that situation had I known something like that would scare you so badly…"

Marco calmed down in the lord's grip, partially because the lord did not allow him to move around and further panic himself, and partially because Lord Portgas always consoled him. His presence was, dare Marco admit it, becoming familiar and comforting. For so long Marco had been alone, sifting through the tenants that Lord Portgas had put up at the Gol estate from a distance, and he'd never formed friendly relationships with any of them.

Lord Portgas laid his head against Marco's shoulder, reminding him that their relationship was a bit more than friendly. His heart fluttered and his breath became shorter.

"My Lord…"

"It's Ace, remember?"

The name was so foreign. "Ace…"

"I won't put you through that again. It was inconsiderate of me to plunge you into a room of things you weren't familiar with."

"They were nice…people and creatures," Marco said, remembering how he got past the initial bout of discomfort with Miss Nico and actually had a civilized conversation with her. No bloodsucking or anything. More importantly, she regarded him as if he were her equal. Yet he didn't flounder at the gift of being more than a servant in her presence. Robin had made it feel natural. Then there was Chopper. He liked Chopper, too, even if he'd never met something, or rather someone, as unique as a talking reindeer.

The skeleton…he would pass on ever meeting again. All he could recall before his vision left him was glittering white teeth and black pits for eyes. A haunted figure out of Hell itself. The image made him shiver. He waggled his finger and discreetly crossed himself, the only movement he could make with the lord hugging him tight.

"I liked them," Marco continued. "I only wish I could have spoken more with your brother."

"You and me both," Lord Portgas said wistfully. "But Luffy was supposed to depart yesterday, and Dr. Trafalgar held him up for my sake. It was a crazy move. It's hard to stop Luffy in his tracks and make him go back the other way for…partings. You have to coerce him with edibles if you want any progress to be made."

Marco drew in a haggard breath. Lord Portgas' voice was so close to his ear and its calming heat was sweeping across his entire body. The darkness of the carriage in the middle of the night, lit only sparingly by the lanterns swinging about on the outside, gave Marco only a faint outline of his lord. He could see the shadows of his high cheekbones and the curve of a hesitant smile, but beyond that was darkness as the carriage's top held away the natural light of the moon.

One of Lord Portgas' hands fell to his thigh, and he covered the refined fingers with his more rugged ones, worried that the lord would…get too intimate.

Marco was not naïve. He knew what came after the tentative kisses. He knew a man like his lord would not be content with the same drab affections day after day. He knew there would be more expected of him.

He just didn't know if he could give any more without becoming repulsed.

The lord nuzzled his neck, and Marco knew lips had fallen on him, though he felt no moisture. No eagerness. Just a steady, reassuring presence.

"I wasn't _scared_, you know," Marco said. It was half the truth. He had his moments of apprehension. But after seeing how easily everyone accepted their fellow abnormal companions of the night it was hard to feel fear. He almost believed he could get used to Lord Portgas' quirky world. Almost.

"You seemed a bit unsure," the lord murmured circumspectly. "I am still berating myself for pushing you out of familiar surroundings so soon. So thoughtlessly."

"Please, don't trouble yourself. Besides, I do trust you. You are kind and fair. How could a man not trust that?"

The lord shrugged slightly at the hypothetical question, drawing his hand subtly away from Marco's thigh, out from under the faintly shaking hand of his valet. He couldn't keep his hand there without an overwhelming sense of guilt tearing at him. Then there was the matter of Marco trusting him so undoubtedly. It brought shame to the forefront of his thoughts, for he had seen Marco at his most prone, done sinful things in his attendance that he had not been made aware of.

"You place trust in people too easily," the lord stated.

Marco inhaled with a slight chuckle. "No, I don't think I do. I don't trust easily. You have _earned_ my trust."

"You trust a demon, then. I fail to see how that does not sound foolish in your ears."

"I have yet to see evidence of these truely demonic characteristics of yours, my Lord Ace."

"Just Ace." He grinned, noting the humour that had entered Marco's tone. "You shall see the ugly side of me soon enough. I'm holding off for now."

Lord Portgas felt a sudden pressure in his side, and noted with giddiness that Marco was leaning against him. The flush that spread through his body, the pleasurable ardour of having Marco so near, left him in a state of light-headedness.

However, he did not miss the shrill cries of the horses or the abrupt jerk of the carriage as it came to a juddering stop.

Marco practically leapt from his arms. For the first time since waking, he wondered just how it was that he was sitting in a carriage alone with his lord. "Who's driving us?"

"Shachi, the boggart. Trafalgar's little helper. We've stopped; I'll get out and see what's wrong."

"No," Marco said decisively. It was the finite way he said it, so crass and severe, that arrested the lord. He halted all action. "It shall be me. Stay here, Ace."

Lord Portgas gave out a nervous little laugh, his breath having frozen in his lungs. Marco had never addressed him in such a commanding tone. In that moment, he saw for a fraction of a second in the semi-darkness a man who had in him the will for survival, fight that rivalled that of the most vicious and dogged of hounds. He saw someone fit for command. Had Marco been born under different circumstances…

He was unnerved and humbled, but he would not stand by and be protected like a damsel.

The lord pushed Marco down into his seat and leaned over to unlatch the door on his side. "No, I shall go outside and confer with Shachi. Can't you hear the horses shrieking? They are hysterical over something. We are still in the Boin Forrest – you don't know the kinds of creature that lurk around in here at nigh–"

His words stalled on his tongue as he saw something large and blond dart across the forest floor into sight, pause in view of his carriage window, and then continue on its way. He knew from the gasp behind him that Marco had seen the pale beast lit by moonlight as well.

He was not expecting to see a snarling boggart go roaring past.

"Shachi!?"

The lord scrambled out of the carriage, landing haphazardly on the loose dirt of the road. The horses were panicking and the carriage was listing to the right as Lord Portgas' black stallion made his strength known. Quickly, he took a gander at the forest, noting the backside of a small creature running away at top speed. Shachi was pursuing whatever it was that had upset the horses.

Lord Portgas went to the beasts and grabbed a hold of the bridal on the black. The horse tried to toss him off, but Lord Portgas held his head down before he hurt himself. He heard footsteps and sharp breaths and turned to see Marco was upon him.

"Get back inside the–"

"No, the horses might be hurt. Let me check them over."

Lord Portgas held the black's nose against his chest while Marco brushed a hand over the equine's hide. "Only sweat," he said at length. "No blood. Whatever that was, it didn't attack them. It looked like a fawn wolf."

"It did look rather blond, but I don't think it was a wolf. Shachi wouldn't bother with it if it was." They moved over to the palomino and Marco checked the mare over. The stallion was heaving and stomping a hoof against the hard earth, but the lord had managed to sooth his thrashing. He was just grateful that the stallion hadn't the usual reflex to rear. Perhaps the heaviness of the harness had curbed that desire to some extent.

"What do you think it was then? You would know better than I," Marco said. He finished checking the flanks of the palomino and gave the good results, that the other horse, too, was unscathed. "Was it a…a demon sort of thing?"

"I don't know. I'll drive us back home. Get into the carriage, I want to leave quick. It's not good to dawdle in the Boin Forest. That's how you get killed."

Marco wouldn't obey him. "If you won't let me drive, at least allow me to sit up front with you. A second pair of eyes would be most beneficial. We haven't a rifle or a bow. We have only our wits, or what's left of yours anyway."

Somehow, Lord Portgas cracked a smile under the moon as he swung up into the driver's seat. "You've lost your wits, then?"

Marco scrambled up after him, taking a seat that was too small to accommodate two fully-grown men. "You couldn't have expected me to keep them after such an exciting night."

Lord Portgas laughed lightly, very aware of the danger they were possibly in. Still, he appreciated Marco's daring humour in light of the situation. It was not raucous by any means nor was it subtle enough to be missed. He was glad to have Marco pressed against him in the cool night air. His company made the long, bumpy road back to the estate bearable and, dare he think it in the circumstances, _enjoyable_.

He was even more humbled when Marco chose of his own accord to drape a friendly arm across his shoulders, giving them more breathing room and yet bringing them closer together.

-oOo-

Very little remained in terms of food when Penguin flapped his way back to Trafalgar's hearth. The doctor had sent the bird off for the evening while the party had transpired, knowing that the Caladrius preferred quiet spaces and minimal company. Now he was back to rest on the top of the fireplace, warming his feathers by the fire.

Dr. Trafalgar regarded him with a smile, for the beautiful white bird was about the only thing in the room that was not a mess. The food, as mentioned, was nonexistent due to Zoro and Luffy's voracious appetites, yet gin and ale remained in various containers scattered throughout his home. Franky had wandered during the course of the evening and with him Usopp; minute traces of their adventures could be found anywhere Trafalgar had items of interest.

He sighed and reclined on a sofa, his shoulders stiff. He felt utterly satisfied by the outcome of the event, as everyone seemed to have a grand time. In majority they were, after all, pirates. He anticipated that they'd make the most of what could be their last time on land for months.

"Oh, Penguin, I am too kind to that fool of a friend, aren't I? Inviting his brother here to see him one last time. Well, more like enticing him with food and drink, but Ace understood the sentiment I believe." Trafalgar snorted a bit when Penguin chirped at him, a high-pitched call that he so rarely uttered. Only the most privileged were given the chance to hear it.

"His chest wound looked better. You remember Luffy. You nearly looked away from him and gave him the death sentence." Penguin chirped again, this one more endearing than the last. Trafalgar melted and felt pent-up stress roll off of him. All night he'd been tense, worried that someone would try and fight someone else in the vicinity of his fragile home. "That's right, Luffy's stronger than he looks. Emotionally, physically for sure, and in his own way perhaps even mentally. He does not give up and die."

Penguin began to preen his feathers and Trafalgar leaned back until he fell on the sofa, stomach up and eyes on his ceiling. He'd lit a multitude of candles and the little firefly lights cast bubbles across the wood above. In a strange way, the patterns reminded him of the sea with a slight breeze to ripple the water.

It was quite nostalgic.

Dr. Trafalgar sat silently for some time before looking over to Penguin again. The bird had his head tucked under a feather and his eyes were open, yet Trafalgar knew he'd fallen into rest. Penguin always slept with one leg positioned in such a way so as to catch himself should he begin to unexpectedly fall forward off the mantle.

Dr. Trafalgar got up and procured his cellar in the depths of his home. He had kept it locked when his company was over and took out a tiny silver key from a hiding place inside a wall to gain access. Once inside and down a short flight of stone steps, he took from his pocket a box of matches and lit a nearby lantern he kept for such occasions.

He swung the lantern around the small, chilly space to check that everything was in its proper place. He didn't truly _need_ the light, but he liked the way his glass jars and other reflective paraphernalia lit up and winked at him.

The walls of the cellar were decorated with shelves upon which a menagerie of medical instruments sat next to jars containing various memorabilia from his travels, both on land and sea. In one jar he had the petrified body of a snake, the poison from which he'd used to make a purplish polish for the nails of Duchess Jewellery. He had decided at the last possible moment not to give it to her, for her banquets brought him much amusement and keeping her alive was of the utmost importance to his continuing studies of the human nature. She was the perfect example of a female willing to please an affluent man in any she could only to backstab him later.

She excited his curiosity, even though the wine she served at her parties was in no way pleasing.

He looked to the emancipated body of a small animal, its tiny organs on display and picked apart inside a fluid filled jar. Beside it, a heart had sunk to the bottom of its container, looking quite ruined as far as proportions went. He had no interest in dissections today, though there were rainy days when he would've picked things like that apart without hesitation.

Tonight he felt he needed a revision of his most oft used medication, so he reached for a bottle of clear, congealed liquid. He brought it in front of his face, examined it at several angles, and placed the glass bottle on a table where he took a seat. It was his workbench, and it was meticulously scoured clean after every use with his own sweat and blood. Not literally, of course. Nobody was allowed down here, and everything that needed cleaning was done with his own hands.

The doctor uncorked his bottle and drew out a line of his most favoured serum, studying it at length. It was an older brew, one that had sat on the shelf for upwards of a year, and as a result the precipitate had grown to encompass the majority of the bottle. He poked at it, upsetting his perfectly drawn line, and found that it really wasn't amusing him at all. He wished he had some organism to try it out on. Like a human body. Preferably one that was still breathing.

He pondered that for a while, coming to the conclusion that it likely wouldn't make much of a difference whether or not he had a hundred bodies down in his medical dungeon for experimentation. He knew all there was to know about the caprice serum and its effects on the human body. It now bored him. The only thing left was a certain cambion with a bad temper.

He felt himself grow excited and his lips curled with distaste. Thoughts of the man brought on mixed emotions. On one hand, he would love to toy around with Eustass Kidd. On the other, he really didn't want to involve himself further with the anger that the man so obviously held in reserve just for him. The idea of being dominated was off-putting.

Yet, he realized there could be ways he could dominate, too. Using the lord's weakness for his natural juices.

Trafalgar laughed at the lusty turn his normally systematic thoughts took and started up the steps, leaving his table to be cleaned at a later date. He didn't even cork the bottle of caprice serum. Somehow preserving it didn't feel important anymore.

Once in the kitchen he opened his cold storage and fished around for an ideal drink. Stored in separate jars he had pheasant blood, clergy blood, the blood of a reputable lord…all human blood in the end. He grabbed whatever was closest at hand and poured himself a glassful.

Then he put it on the table and simply stared at it.

"Disgusting," he muttered, catching the scent. It was the fact that he _knew _what was held in the glass would be mediocre at best that put him off the most. Then he sighed tiredly, because his stomach was aching with a need for sustenance and he didn't want to drink from the glass even though he knew he must. The strong scent made his nostrils itch and his lungs thought the smell repulsive.

After a long minute, he pinched his nostrils together to block off the unappetizing odour and downed the glass in a matter of gulps. The thick liquid almost came back up. Still, the repulsion could have been worse. He was getting better, albeit slowly. Drinking rum while the party went on may have helped him forget the taste of demon's blood.

It was disappointing to think that he was still ruined by one stupid decision he made to feast on Lord Eustass.

He blew out the candle he'd been carrying around with him and decided that it would be wise to get a morsel of rest. Bepo's paws scratching the floor in a room on the other side of the house didn't beckon to him, however. He enjoyed sleeping next to his bearish shapeshifter, or even on top of him, but tonight it was obvious Bepo was dreaming a particularly violent dream. He did not wish to be injured by either teeth or claws.

So he decided to retire to a room upstairs.

Glowing eyes caught him in the hall. For a split second, he thought the shadow with glimmering eyes was Shachi, but then he blinked and realized the form was crouched, appearing smaller than it really was. He blinked again. He was looking at a painting on his wall.

He spun on his heel. There was only silence save for his soft footsteps as he swung around. The eyes had vanished.

He stood there, pondering his sanity. He was likely malnourished from his recent blood abstinence. He hadn't slept a wink in a few days. From a medical standpoint, that had likely been a hallucination.

Still, he cautiously made his way back downstairs, his shoulders tense. Then he took up his nodachi. With a hand on the sheath and its blade pointed down, he tapped the floor. The sound resonated. He hit it against the wall next. The garbled sounds that returned to his ears brought him on even higher alert.

Something was lurking against the corner of a room.

"Come out!"

His command echoed throughout the manor. Bepo's snoring could still be heard, wheezing wuffs that told Trafalgar he was tracking something in his dream. The doctor almost laughed at his friend's lack of guard skills, but the sound of splintering wood made his breath hitch in his throat.

He turned to the sound with his blade drawn and was subsequently attacked from behind.

With a surprised grunt Trafalgar let himself be bowled over. He hit the ground and brought his blade in a spin, hitting something warm and fleshy with it. Something screamed in his ear and the weight on his back left him, scrambling away.

Whatever kind of demon it was, it made a low-pitched whimper. It would also be a dead demon by sunrise.

Law scrambled to his feet, drawing his blade up with him and putting it in the path of the creature that had foolishly chosen to assault him. His shoulder stung; he'd been bitten by fangs or impaled by razor sharp claws. He would have to remove his shirt to access the damage.

The sound which had previously caught his attention turned out to be his housekeeping demon back from his errand escorting Lord Portgas and his valet home. The little boggart howled and flung himself in front of Trafalgar, his teeth bared and his eyes a milky white.

Dr. Trafalgar scooted backwards until his body was flush with a wall. "Calm down, Shachi! I have already nicked him with my sword. Whatever it is, it is dying."

Shachi would not be placated. At length, Trafalgar realized that the growls and whines he was making was not born of repressed anger; rather it was animalistic communication. Shachi was talking to the beast. And what was more startling was the tortured cries the demon was making in response.

Trafalgar watched the exchange with curiosity. The blond demon, as that was about the extent of what he could see with the body writhing about in the shadows, never holding still long enough to be scrutinized, was answering his boggart.

Finally, Shachi turned around, agitation still prominent in his eyes and his lips peeled back into a snarl. "Master! I know him! He is an old ally of mine!"

Trafalgar could not stifle his shock. He let out a grunt and scrambled to his feet. Never before had Shachi paused when another came between him and his master. "He tried to kill me, Shachi," he reminded the demon with all the firmness of a rebuke.

Shachi let out a whimper that caught Trafalgar further off guard. "He is a nameless, homeless demon!"

The blonde creature stopped rubbing his wounded, burning shoulder against Trafalgar's wall long enough to shout, "I have a name and a master!"

"Oh? Who sent you then?" Trafalgar asked. He already knew the answer, and did not wait for his reply. "Think wisely before you speak! It was Lord Eustass, was it not?"

The creature made a garbled growl and Shachi cocked his head to the side to better listen. "Aye, it was he," Shachi confirmed nervously. "It was Lord Eustass."

Trafalgar grunted and hefted his sword off the ground. "Well then, I ought to kill him and end his misery."

Much to his surprise, Shachi would not clear his path. He stood firm, little whale-teeth glistening. "Wait, Master! He wishes to speak with you!"

"Then speak, boggart!" Trafalgar yelled, impatient. His shoulder stung and he knew his clothing was ruined by his own blood.

"Please! I wish to split allegiance," the demon rasped out. "You have impressed me greatly, and you have taken another of my kin in…"

"You won't live," the doctor said simply. "I have cut you with an accursed blade that is eating your flesh as we speak. Your arm, it is blistering, that much I can see under your cloth. Your face, you hide it behind a helmet, so I can not see if the curse has spread yet to that area."

"You are a doctor for demons," Shachi said, aghast. "There must be something!"

There was _something_, but Trafalgar needed a good reason to go down to his cellar and retrieve it. "Why should I save you only to riven your allegiance to Lord Eustass in order to include me in the contract? Such a bond never works. I think you are trying to save your own skin."

"I have realized something that my Master has not while coming here. You need my Master and he needs you," the demon answered, his voice growing higher in pitch as his flesh wound festered and pus leaked out onto the stone floor. "Because. Because I will serve you and him equally, as I can feel a union between the two of you will eventually come…"

"Now isn't that curious." Trafalgar paced the room, eying the demon from all angles. He had reason to believe it was a malevolent boggart trying to get the upper hand by drawing him close. He would not prance over only to be given a killing blow. "What makes you think Lord Eustass is thinking of this union? Especially when he so obviously sent you to annihilate me?"

"He is haunted by thoughts of you, and that is how I know he will eventually succumb to the more primitive part of his mind. He is simply confused at the moment. Had I killed you, perhaps he would have gone insane and died from a nameless torment. So I gave you ample opportunity to strike me down. For his sake. After all, a boggart obeys his master to the bitterest end, but he tries to avoid hurting his master if he can find a loophole in the orders given to him. So I had to try to kill, but at the same time give you the opportunity to destroy me, as that would be best for my Master."

Grudgingly, Trafalgar did recall how he's turned his back on the eyes in the dark and basically bared himself for attack. There had been ample opportunity for the boggart to kill him, and yet the creature had chosen a moment when Trafalgar was prepared to strike back. With this thought making his skin itch, Trafalgar turned his back on Shachi and the peculiar boggart who was clearly more intelligent than his rags made him out to be, and went down to his cellar to search his shelves for an salve he believed would reverse the mark of death he'd given with his blade.

Whether he was making a momentous mistake or not was yet to be seen.

* * *

**A.N.:** Merry Christmas everyone and thanks, as always, for all the support! :)


	12. Chapter XII

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter XII

* * *

Trafalgar brought back with him a bottle of liquid the colour of primroses. By this time he was surprised to see that Shachi had moved his fellow boggart out of the shadows and into the light of a few dozen candles he'd also lit. Also present in the room was Penguin.

The Caladrius refused to look in the direction of the boggart Trafalgar had sentenced to death.

"Let us hope Bepo does not awaken to this scene," Trafalgar muttered, remembering the last time he'd brought in a demon to his home without warning the shapeshifter first. Bepo had reacted like a honey-crazed bear trying to penetrate a beehive, and that was putting it rather mildly. He could recall that a drawing room had been obliterated.

Dr. Trafalgar shook off such thoughts of destruction and focussed on the unconscious body of the blonde boggart. He'd torn away the clothes that were covering the arm only to find that the skin was peeling and convulsions were rippling across the surface. He could only imagine what was going on underneath. He would have to make his work neat while being swift, something of a challenge when tackling this sort of wound.

While he worked, slathering on a salve of freezing crème which would halt the rapid decay of the skin cells, Shachi continued to mutter away to the demon. That was a strange thing with boggarts; they had their own language that they felt more comfortable conversing in. Any other language was picked up. When flustered they'd revert back to their mother tongue, and that was a petite problem for Trafalgar in the grand scheme of things. He knew not what this demon was saying to Shachi.

He did not doubt his boggart's loyalty, yet at the same time he did not doubt the mischievous intent of a boggart he did not know.

Uncertainty was maddening.

He worked diligently, getting out his needle and thread to sew the original wound shut. It had grown thrice its size in the short span of time between when the boggart was nicked and when Trafalgar applied the ointment. That growth was blamed on his nodachi and its unique demon vanquishing properties.

He loved his sword, and he hoped the spirit within its blade wouldn't be offended that he was now saving a life that should have been taken.

"Is he going to be alright?" Shachi asked, at last reverting back to a language that could be understood.

Trafalgar looked up from his work for a few seconds, not to look at Shachi but to guage Penguin's thoughts on the matter. The bird was still pointedly not looking. With a sigh he returned to the wound and the infected arm. To amputate or leave put; that was the question raging through his mind.

"Remove your helmet, demon," the doctor ordered. He expected some sort of physical response, but the boggart was paralyzed. It eventually happened, as the effects of the flesh-eating curse took out nerve endings first, but he had hoped that it wouldn't be too late. He received only a whimper of a growl, and Shachi went about removing the iron helmet that was upon the demon's head.

What a hideous face beneath. The features were a peculiar mixture between angelic and hedonistic. Trafalgar couldn't say he was particularly captured by it. Still, he'd seen worse on boggarts.

"Remove his shirt, Shachi. I have a feeling the curse has been spreading inside of him. If it has his spine, I won't be able to save him."

Shachi got to work, using his little clawed hands to unbutton and rip away the clothing on his fellow boggart. Trafalgar was interested in how close this boggart was in imitating a human, though he was much hairier and too lean to be considered a healthy human. He almost had an elfish appearance; only he was much too tall and seemed to possess certain characteristics of a wolf or another such fanged beast with powerful limbs. He was a bit too much of everything Trafalgar was fond of.

He examined the shoulder and then the chest, finding visible strain and swelling in the veins that would eventually either pop or stretch the skin to accommodate. Right now it was doing the more restrained of the two options and parting the skin cells. Nothing was bursting open. Nothing was damaged beyond all possible repair.

He risked another glance at Penguin after applying a wash of yellow cream. This was curious. The bird was beginning to turn his head, perhaps getting ready to look upon the patient? Trafalgar grunted and resumed working, halting the progression of the curse where it darkened and enflamed skin. After a while he had Shachi flip the boggart over and went to work on the creature's back. By now he was working with an unconscious patient, and he made no effort to be gentle. Besides, the boggart was beyond feeling pain.

"Before he went out, he told me the name bestowed upon him by Lord Eustass was Killer," Shachi suddenly piped up, retrieving bandages at his master's quiet request.

"How fitting," Trafalgar said dryly, taking the linens and beginning to tie them around the afflicted areas. He and Shachi struggled on in silence tying bandages, Trafalgar wondering why he was being so munificent to his attempted murderer and Shachi biting his lip in worry.

The doctor tied the last of his bandages. He was finished. This was the best he could offer as a man and demon of medicine. He looked up a final time at his Caladrius.

Killer would not be recovering from his wound, the snow-white bird told him with the back of his head.

"Penguin." The bird's thin, sallow legs twitched, showing he'd heard his master's voice. "Penguin, if you'd be so kind as to assist me in treatment. I don't believe it is outside of your powers, and I don't want to command you outright to take the burden of this stranger on your own wings and carry it with you until it disperses if you do not wish to help. So, I leave the decision to you."

Shachi made a pleading noise at the back of his throat and the bird shuddered as if annoyed. It was amusing in a way to see Shachi trying to garble and whimper his way into Penguin's heart, and Trafalgar knew Shachi had succeeded in convincing him to provide assistance when the bird lifted his large wings.

Penguin flew over, his head turned so he saw only what his nature allowed him to see. He landed next to the patient, his beak upturned towards Trafalgar.

Only once before had the doctor put forth this request, and that had been for an injury that Bepo received from an imprudent human. He'd been shot by a hunter on the outskirts of the Boin Forest, and had come home limping and bleeding profusely. It wasn't a sight Trafalgar wanted to see again.

Penguin chittered an audible song and picked his way up onto the chest of Killer, talons holding onto frayed cloth. The doctor watched as the bird circled, head remaining constant to the west, and finally settled around the area where Killer's failing heart lay. The bird hunkered down and closed his eyes.

Dr. Trafalgar waited for several minutes for any change to take place, pulling Shachi's claws from his mouth before he gnawed them completely off in worry. Gradually, Penguin's lustrous white coat began to dull, and then the feathers faded to a pallid grey. Trafalgar turned away with a shudder before he could watch the beak of his magnificent friend go taupe and anaemic.

Everything that Killer suffered was now inside of his dear Caladrius.

Penguin made a soft wuffing noise akin to Bepo's rough breathing, and Trafalgar got to his feet. He then stooped and warily gathered the bird into his hands, taking care not to disrupt Penguin too much. Feathers were swirling around his feet, falling away from Penguin's feeble and sickly skin. He was not moulting; his plumage was simply disintegrating.

Dr. Trafalgar hurried over to a window and heaved it open, then placed Penguin on the sill in the evening light of the moon.

"The sun will rise in a few hours," Trafalgar whispered. "Until then…"

Penguin wuffed resolutely, breathy blasts of air firing out of the slits on his beak. Trafalgar forced a smile, grim but proud of his friend for being so quick to save a life and sad because the suffering would continue until the sun was high in the sky.

Shachi went to check up on Killer, who was flitting between being aware and being asleep, only to report that his pain had ceased, as Trafalgar well knew from Penguin's condition. The doctor sat in a chair next to the window's ledge, not intending to leave Penguin's side. There they sat for two hours more, until the sun peeked through the trees and illuminated the worst of the damage Penguin had sustained on Killer's behalf.

The doctor's hands trembled and he looked away, only to look back again in anger.

"That beast had better have a damn good explanation when he comes around properly. That's my reason for saving him; curiosity's sake."

He heard Shachi's toenails clicking on the stone flooring, signifying that he'd taken his shoes off in order to stretch out his webbed feet. "Master…"

"Don't _Master _me, Shachi. How do you know him?"

Shachi had already pondered the question before sunrise. He knew what he wanted to tell and what he wanted to keep to himself. "Well, he was a drifter, like me, nameless and masterless. Only he haunted the shipyards of Loguetown whereas I hung about the fishery buildings in particular. I met him before I met you, before you were discharged from the navy and I followed you from your old ship to your first home. He sometimes got up to malicious tricks, but he wasn't a bad boggart. He was actually quite helpful. Smart, too. He can read."

"I bet he can," Trafalgar commented dryly. "There's only one thing worse than a malicious boggart, and that's a _smart_, malicious boggart."

"He's not _malicious_, though. He's just…interesting?"

Trafalgar raised a fine eyebrow and strode over to where Shachi stood. He crouched with an ill frown and asked, "Are you arguing with me?"

"No, Master." Shachi pouted, little eyes under his cap widening. "I only wish to–"

Trafalgar hushed him, for the tiniest and most delicate of sounds had reached his ears. He straightened and crossed the room, coming around to resume his post by Penguin.

It had been ages since he'd heard Penguin utter the first notes of a song.

"You don't want me to be mad at him, do you?" he asked the bird. Penguin stared at his master and companion, then threw his head back and let out a whimsical chortle that struck cleanly at Trafalgar's heart, reminding him that he did indeed possess one. He half expected Penguin to curb his song and remain silent and brooding, as he had done for the past few months, but the notes continued to flow from his beak, smooth and soothing.

Trafalgar found his knees weak and sought a chair lest he topple over as Shachi had already done.

It took him many more chords to realize that his Caladrius was singing a rather buoyant melody to the sun. Just as his species was said to do every morning at sunrise. Only, Penguin had never expressed interest in what was the norm for his kind. While his species were habitually occupied with their beauty, captivating creatures within earshot or eyesight, Penguin had not a vain feather on his body. The singing was alluring, and Trafalgar had long thought that Penguin hated singing.

The ghastly form of Penguin shuddered as he raised himself up onto his spindly legs. Trafalgar resisted the urge to help him along, knowing that to do so would wound Penguin's pride. For while he was not vain in his appearance, he was a proud creature all the same and would not accept assistance.

Penguin turned to regard him, and then focused his cloudy eyes on the form of the boggarts on the ground, giving Trafalgar his answer. The man watched with pain evident in his expression as Penguin lifted his wings and took off from the stone sill, gradually climbing into the sky with laborious flaps of his great wings.

The sickness within him would burn up when he got closer to the sun, and from the decay of his body would hatch a magnificent beast once again. It was the closest thing to the rebirth of a phoenix that Trafalgar knew, though Caladrius' didn't die only to be reborn again. They shed maladies.

He heard the scritch-scratching of Shachi getting to his feet from where he had fallen prey to Penguin's beautiful song, and focused his sights upon the enemy boggart on the ground in a tiny pool of his own blood and damaged skin.

A renewed pang of anger coursed through him again and he allowed himself a minute to quell his murderous thoughts. Then he gave Shachi new instructions. "Get Killer cleaned up and wash my floors. And lock him up with the seastone. I'm going out to pay a visit to his sender."

Shachi cringed at the tone of his master's voice, a wind kicking up to ruffle his hair as Trafalgar departed quick enough to create a tailwind.

-oOo-

The sunrise woke Marco from his slumber. He lay still in bed, picking his mind for a review of the events that took place the night before. He vaguely remembered his lord's arm around his shoulders, and pressing against him to ward off the cold of the night. Then he recalled getting back to the manor and the chivalrous way Lord Portgas asked to kiss his lips.

He reddened at the memory of those smooth lips caressing him while soft fingers stroked his neck and the hollow just below his ear.

The connection had felt right, yet incredibly sinful. He had a hard time deciding which emotion was the more important of the two.

With a sigh Marco rolled over onto his side. It was time to leave his chamber and prepare breakfast for his lord, as well as take care of his other obligations. The horses had been bathed in sweat from the fright the previous night, and he'd blanketed them but felt a grooming was needed to repay them for their assiduousness in the face of danger.

While he ran through a list of items he needed to get done before rousing his lord, Marco became acutely aware of a heavy breathing that had gone unnoticed before now. He furrowed his brow, concentrating on the noise, then slowly turned his head to see a dark lump beside him.

He jolted up and backwards only to slam against a wall, jarring the bed and awakening his bedmate. Sleepy, coal eyes blinked at him and Marco opened his mouth, unable to form words to articulate his surprise. Several seconds passed before he found his tongue, during which time the invasive lump gained form, stretching and cracking idle joints.

"M-my Lord, what are you doing in here, or rather, _why_ are you in here?"

The dark lump spoke, rubbing equally dark eyes to clear them of drowsiness. "Ah, my apologies, Marco. I must have fallen asleep without realizing it. You know, I sometimes have these terrible instances where I drop to the floor or a tabletop, dead asleep. Or, in this case, on the corner of your bed."

"But why were you in _this_ room?" Marco wondered with a noticeable blush tinting his dark skin. "It…is part of the servants' quarter."

Lord Portgas pursed his lips, deep in thought. What to tell the man? He could easily admit his true intentions, or he could lie to conceal them. There was a third option his intellect conceived, which was a mixture of the two previously mentioned. He decided upon it as the best of the bunch. "I wished to tuck you in. It's a dreadful thing to be cold during the night. Especially when one doesn't share a bed with another."

"My Lord, that is a highly inappropriate statement."

"I thought we had agreed on the use of first names? Ace, you ought to say, that is a highly inappropriate statement."

"_Ace_, that is highly inappropriate," Marco corrected himself in a rush. He then took stock of the black nightgown, embroidered with red thread, which his lord wore. It hung loosely from his broad frame and looked to be made of thin silk. "Do you not think you should get some warmer clothes on? Have you not acquired a chill of your own?"

"There is a bit of a draft coming up my nightgown, yes, but I think that can be solved easily…"

Marco shook with sudden shock as Ace threw back the blankets on his body and climbed in beside him with a grin. "It is solved," he declared.

"I think not," Marco muttered. "I'll go…make tea."

"No, I don't want tea."

"Breakfast?" offered his valet, seemingly desperate to receive an assignment.

"…" Lord Portgas fought internally with himself. Food, or Marco's company in the privacy of his little enclave? His stomach reared its attack, a low grumble that he was sure Duchess Jewelry could hear all the way from her bejewelled estate. His demonic desires rebutted with a pang to his crotch that made him wince and want to crush his body up against Marco's.

The deciding factor was Marco's fingers on his shoulder, lightly trailing down his skin with all the tentativeness of an unsure man. He blinked back an animalistic grunt that threatened to spill from his throat.

"Ace, you really should get some clothing on you before you get sick. Look, you're already turning red from a chill!"

Lord Portgas had passed the point of listening to reason. His hands were slipping across the sheets and finding the folds of Marco's clothing, bunching the fabric around his abdomen. His heart raced, amplifying his flushed cheeks. Unbeknownst to him, Marco was running through a formal reprimand that would have offended even Lord Portgas had his selective ears picked up on the words being uttered.

Quite suddenly, the lord's mind, so preoccupied with visions of warm flesh and gentle kisses, went blank. The reason for such lay in Marco's frustrated flipping of the lord onto his back, so he was pressed into the sheets with his valet on top of him.

"–and you really are nothing like a proper lord, since all you d–"

"Marco, what is it we're conversing about?" Lord Portgas asked at length, watching Marco's mouth move, his tongue articulating artful sounds that were pleasing to his ears yet completely incomprehensible. The warmth radiating down from Marco's body was filling his groin with a tingling fire, and the result was rather stiff to say the least.

The blanket was between them but, thick as it was, Marco still felt a bulge push against his leg. He looked down, realized the distance between thigh and torso left one thing in between, and looked back up at the lord's face with alarm.

Lord Portgas said nothing, letting his confident smile speak for itself.

Marco began to back off, not getting very far before the lord reacted and seized him by the wrist. "A-Ace, I have duties–"

"To me. You have duties to me," the lord interrupted flatly. His mind was narrowing, his sight following soon after. All he could see right now was Marco's blushing cheeks and his able hands and mouth. It had been far too long since his last conquest, a matter of a few months. His incubi desires were protesting violently behind his eyelids. He could not keep at bay his longings for attention. "Will you…?"

Marco looked down at the bulge beneath the blanket, his throat too dry to speak.

"You are curious, no?" asked Lord Portgas with a devious smirk aimed at Marco's frozen stare. It was a matter of convincing, and persuasion was one of the arts Lord Portgas excelled at. "It is only harmless fun between men. Primal, physical _needs, _yes?"

Marco's eyes flicked up and down his body, and the irresistible golden radiance of the lord, his gilded torso and muscular neck and shining eyes tempted him. He recognized that. He was not, however, prepared to move further. Or so he believed.

Lord Portgas flipped Marco onto his back, his hands on the man's strong shoulders that seemed to weaken under his touch. He furled the blanket and tossed it aside, his heavy weight bearing down on Marco's prone body.

He could see something had changed in Marco's stare. Gone was the hint of anger he was displaying previously, and in its place was fear. Yet it was not fear in the sense that Marco was terrified of his lord, no, it was an inquisitive fear, one of anxiety. It was an indecisive expression that he wore so plainly.

Lord Portgas had known it was only a matter of time before his more brash demon instincts took over, and to see this kind of fear on Marco's face and know he was the cause of it brought back his more human face.

He almost walloped himself on the head. What had he been thinking? No, he knew what he'd been thinking. The demon inside of him was dead set on playing the seducer, and Marco was but his unfortunate victim.

He had to change that before it was too late. "I don't want to force you," Lord Portgas said with a groan, removing himself from Marco's body before he could do something truly regrettable.

Marco reached out and grabbed the nightgown in his hands. The silk slipped through his fingers and he grabbed for it once more, unable to get a firm hold and grasping the sides of the lord's chest instead. "Wait."

Lord Portgas froze, expectant.

Marco wouldn't meet his eyes, but his hands were doing all the exploring for him, gliding over the lord's tense shoulder and down his arm. He spoke quietly, and to the bed beneath them. "I'm willing enough for a kiss…but that wouldn't abate your _needs_, would it?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Lord Portgas replied just as quietly. "Do you dare try?"

Marco's eyes suddenly snapped to the lord's face. "So this is the demon you've warned me about? The sex fiend."

Lord Portgas winced. Words were just dropping from his rouge lips without much thought encased in them. "'Tis my nature. Are you afraid?"

With a soft sigh, Marco shook his head. "How could I be?"

Lord Portgas opened his mouth to ask just what Marco meant by his vague words only to taste the man's lips on his own. So sweet and oddly pure, yet rugged and jaded that they aroused the lord's curiosity. His skin crawled as Marco pressed more firmly, reassured by his lord kissing him back just as fervently.

The lord began to paw at Marco, give him gentle squeezes and caresses, all down his sides until he eventually reached his valet's thighs. There he glided his hand in circles, gathering the warmth into his palm. Marco didn't pull away, but he angled his head to the side and broke their kiss, Lord Portgas' lips falling to his cheek, then his neck. He was met with protest when he began to dip lower.

"Not I, _you_," Marco whispered, his hands grasping the lord's arms in an effort to repel him. "Let me."

"The greatest pleasure for an incubus comes from pleasing another," Lord Portgas whispered back. He pushed Marco down by his chest, trying his hardest not to be too dominant.

When he found himself suddenly on his back, Lord Portgas realized it was not he who was being too forceful. Not that he minded. Having Marco on top of him, smouldering him with his gaze as he kissed his lips again, was too erotic to put a stop to.

"Did you not hear me, Ace? _I _will take care of _your _needs."

The lord grunted in compliant acknowledgement and focussed on Marco's hands, where they were and where they were going. Down his chest and to his thighs, the warmth from Marco's fingers collecting and gathering in one place where an inferno was starting up. He took a deep breath of Marco's musky scent, the air in his valet's room saturated with the smell, and let it out as cool air caressed his thighs. Marco was lifting his clothing off of him, exposing him, receiving his stiff desire in his hand.

A flash of white covered the lord's sight and he arched his back, the firm grip he was held in loosening with the motion. He felt the tiniest bit of friction in the slide, and it was more than enough to force him to surrender his control.

"_Marco_," he gasped. He blinked away the blinding light to see his valet's dark eyes staring down at his face, at his flushed cheeks and lidded eyes. Entirely submissive. Lord Portgas had not felt so content being beneath another before. Always he had been the one giving and rarely the recipient of affections. That had suited him fine with women; only it left his libido in the same state as before. No, it worsened it.

Marco coaxed from him an impulsive buck of his hips. He was tenderly petting that which he held so dearly in his grasp. The sincerity of his stroke and the overwhelming, contradictory feeling of being gently cradled by a rugged hand brought from Lord Portgas a heady chuckle.

With a jolt and tension in the veins of his hands, Marco ceased all movement.

"Sorry," the lord whispered with a hesitant smile. "I just…I'm ecstatic whenever you're near, and this is just too much to endure in silence."

Marco nodded and his shoulders slumped, the only visible sign the lord could see of his valet's relaxation. He could feel a tension, however, that was present since the very start, and chose to ignore it. Perhaps that which he felt was Marco's anxiety and curious fear for doing something so immoral, the feeling so deeply rooted that only time would shake it free from its earth.

His troubled thoughts cleared when Marco renewed his rhythm, his hand gliding up and down, gathering little pinpricks of the lord's essence in his palm and in between his fingers. The act, even if simple and unrefined, was more than enough to pull a wolfish growl from Lord Portgas' lips, and in little time he came with a jerk of his hips when Marco's fingers trailed down to further titillate him. He really was too sensitive a creature, and to look up and see that it was the object of his ardent affections was really too much for him to handle.

His lower body spasmed and he turned his head to the side, inhaling the intoxicating odour that had its place on Marco's pillow. The pillow was not nearly as soft as he was accustomed to, nor were the threadbare sheets as comfortable, and in his euphoric bliss he deigned that he would try anew to ensure that Marco would, from now on, be sleeping in his bed alongside him. Rank was to be obsolete.

He lay in a stupor with his eyes closed, trying to regain a sense of self, until he felt a cool wetness wash over him. Then he looked down to see Marco intently cleaning his body with a wet cloth, the tiniest of smiles curving his mouth.

"You don't have to do that, Marco," the lord said softly. Now that his pent up energy had finally been released, Lord Portgas could feel very little sensation and was glad of it. It was the relief he had been craving for a long time.

Marco didn't pause in his work and finished within the minute. His face had become rather emotionless, and he left to put the cloth on top of a pile of things that needed washing some time. When he returned with clothing from upstairs, he helped to dress Lord Portgas, and then stood silently while the lord affectionately kissed his cheek.

"You are sullen."

"No, not sullen," Marco replied with a quirked smile that seemed slightly forced. "Just…weighted."

"How so?"

Marco turned and there was an indication that he did not hear, though the lord knew he must have heard his words. "There is food on the table in the drawing room nearest this chamber. I'll return with your letters." Before the lord could make a grab for his valet, Marco was off and turning a corner, gone to retrieve the morning mail. It would take him ten minutes if he were fast, and half an hour if his energy were waning. Lord Portgas knew this as he'd often counted the minutes it took for Marco to return to his side.

He relocated hastily, not wanting to stay in the room that smelled entirely of his valet, and sat down to a platter of the usual food items Marco laid out for breakfast in the sitting room. He feasted, drowning himself in bread slices and rich wine. He didn't really want to think about the speed with which Marco had fled. For he had fled, in Lord Portgas' opinion.

Perhaps, he thought, he was overthinking his circumstances. He had to remember that Marco was a man, and that affections were something traditionally given by women. He had many caring women in his short lifetime of some twenty-odd years, and every one of them that he could readily recall had been overly indulgent in their emotional needs. Kissing, cuddling, fawning over him though never allowing him the things he really craved… He had grown bored with their fondness, which was part of the reason why he had developed a history of fleeing a bed warm and the wet spot that told of fickle lovemaking.

He pondered all of this amid counting the seconds that noisily ticked by on the grandfather clock adjacent to the chair he sat in. When Marco finally returned in his quiet, non-interruptive way, twenty-five or twenty-six minutes had passed. Lord Portgas didn't rise to meet him, giving Marco a grace period from his lips that oft greeted him upon his returns, and instead received his letters with a broad smile that he hoped would convey all of the adoration that had built up afresh since their hurried encounter in Marco's chamber.

He had Marco sit down across from him. It would take two minutes to go through the small stack of letters, and after that he wished to have a conversation with the man in which he could praise his graceful hands subliminally.

One letter was a hurried scribble from Dr. Trafalgar, accounting for his servant's hasty departure from their carriage in the night. There wasn't much substance to it, and Lord Portgas flung it away without much of a care, as he did not want to read apologies about a night he deemed rather successful. The second letter was an inquiry about the state of his horses from the local farrier, who seemed entirely too concerned for his own good, and the third letter was from a shoe shop in the heart of Sabaody. Apparently they were a new business in town looking for patrons. Perhaps he would get a new pair of shoes for Marco, but that could come at another time.

He got to the bottom letter at last and flinched when his eyes graced a familiar wax seal that included cutlery. Before he could get up the nerve to toss the letter into the fireplace he broke the seal and withdrew the note from within.

_My Dearest Lord Portgas, Holder of the Gol Estate:_

_I have acquired a painting I know you will find intriguing. It is of your favourite full-rigged vessel, the __Moby Dick__. Perhaps you will deign it appropriate to visit me at my estate for a private viewing? I shall expect you tomorrow, at noon. I also wish to introduce you to the finest Italian food, as I have acquired a new chef who has greatly impressed me._

_My humblest regards,_

_Duchess Jewelry Bonney_

Lord Portgas set the letter on the table, a deep and unhappy frown marring his features. He slid the note as far as he could towards his valet and asked, "Marco will you read this?"

Marco's eyebrows arched but he skimmed the handwriting on the paper, then looked back up at the lord with questioning eyes. "She wishes you to visit."

"No, she _implores _me to visit. I do not have a choice in the matter, or so it appears. However, I thought you might find it interesting that she has come across yet another piece by Silvers Rayleigh. The _Moby Dick_, too, of all ships! You once said you were on that ship…you never did explain yourself, and I have seen you often sit in the front lobby admiring the painting I managed to acquire since the day I introduced it to you."

Marco took a deep breath, and let it out in a loud _whoosh_. "Ace, I don't wish to speak of it. Not now, anyway. There are some things a man prefers to keep to himself."

Lord Portgas did not prod further. He understood such a boundary. Still, the letter was a dark cloud over his plans for the day and tomorrow. He had been planning to stick closely by his valet, preferably coax him out of the manor and into town. He had grown sick of seeing the same walls around his person and needed a bit of adventure. If Marco decided there were too many chores to be done at the estate, he would have chosen to stay in and perhaps coaxed the man to sit for him once more.

"Marco, will you come with me?" asked the lord rather offhandedly. "I know you wish to keep from the subject of that particular ship, but you seem to know the most about these paintings by Silvers Rayleigh. It would be pleasant if you were to accompany me on my visitation to the duchess' estate."

"I would rather not."

"Excuse me?"

"I said I would rather not accompany you to see the duchess."

Lord Portgas gaped slightly. Did those words really come out of Marco's mouth? "Are you refusing me?"

"Should you order me to accompany you, I will go dutifully. Should you ask me along just for the sake of kissing me passionately and scandalously in a dark corner of a room, I would rather not attend." The frank words coming out of Marco's mouth were certainly a much-needed reminder to the lord that Marco was not as soft and complaisant as he made himself out to be when wearing his tails.

"You are challenging my authority for the second time," Lord Portgas mused with a tiny frown. He was not mad, simply curious why Marco, so well-trained to perform any and all duties his masters wished of him, would choose now to blatantly refuse what was a simple request in the lord's mind.

"I am not challenging your authority; I am merely appealing to your sense of reason. What good would my coming along bring?"

"I would feel safer from the duchess' unwelcome affections knowing you were at my side."

"I don't wish to be ordered around like a slave for the duchess. As you well know by now – and I will speak plainly here – she's something of a tyrant. My servitude is what would happen should I follow in your footsteps. Please, allow me to stay here and attend to the affairs of your estate. There is much cleaning to be done."

"There seems to always be cleaning that needs doing," the lord muttered. "But no matter, it is unfair to ask you along just for my own contentment."

Marco bowed and scrambled to make a hasty, yet graceful, exit. He left the lord frowning over the obvious, though not entirely literal, distance Marco was trying to put between them.

Had Marco forced himself _then_, or had he meant what their amatory act entailed? Lord Portgas was left to ponder in silence.

* * *

**A.N.: **Thank you all for reviewing! I like hearing about the things that struck you guys in some way, whether negatively or in a positively; it's good feedback.


	13. Chapter XIII

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter XIII

* * *

Dr. Trafalgar, one leg hitched over the other, was perched on Bepo's wide back, watching the Eustass estate from afar. His eyes swept over the rolling hills and focussed on the manor that had been built on the highest vantage point, an ugly gothic speck that drove a leaden frown into the soft skin of Trafalgar's mouth.

"There is a chance he has found others like that menacing boggart," the doctor said into the autumn breeze. "I don't want to have to bind them all to me simply to ensure they don't try to take my life."

Bepo's rounded ears twitched, catching every word. He had forsaken his cover as a horse in favour of his natural shape. Though he stood out like a snow bank in the midst of summer, he was comfortable in his true skin.

"_I smell nothing_," Bepo remarked. "_Except for the one you're after_."

Trafalgar leaned back on his hands, still managing a pose more graceful than the most careful of court ladies. "Then you'll create a commotion. I doubt he realizes I cannot enter his abode without his permission. We'll draw him out, and I will strike at his heart with my sword."

"_He will kill you with a pistol_!" Bepo cried, appalled at the plan.

"Not if I take the man by surprise."

"_Even so…I don't think he'll be fooled easily, Master. Perhaps we ought to try a different approach. What if I eat all of his livestock and we starve him out of his home_?"

"You're just hungry, aren't you?" the doctor asked dryly. In lieu of a response, there was a loud earthquake from deep within Bepo's expansive stomach. "Fine, eat his chickens and his hounds; see if that does any good. Meanwhile, I'd like to walk his meadows. Fresh air and a brisk walk always bring on superior murder plots."

Bepo growled happily as his master slid from his back. "Go around by the edge of the forest, Bepo. I don't want you getting shot at."

Bepo mumbled some sort of bearish agreement, but his excitement made the words unintelligible. Before the doctor had taken a step Bepo was already off and loping as quick as a bear could manage. With great amusement, Trafalgar watched the white fluff, so rolly-polly, streak along the fringes of the forest. When Bepo was out of his sight behind a hill, Trafalgar promptly started for his real destination.

It would be easier if Bepo weren't worried. Besides, he did not want Bepo in the midst of gunfire, if it would come to that.

He strode straight up to the courtyard and passed through the open iron gate, then on to the manor itself. Grotesques glared down at him from the corners of the roof, reminding him that it was likely Eustass had acquired more than one companion in the stretch of time since they'd last locked egos. It was not that he didn't trust Bepo's nose; he was just wary from the encounter with the cambion's boggart friend.

He would have to be stealthy and vigilant. Sooner or later something else might attack him from behind.

His shoulder had the tiniest of puncture wounds marring his otherwise unspoiled skin. The injury strung whenever his clothing rubbed up against the bandages in a way that made them shift and grate the membrane underneath. He didn't want to add any more bite marks to his flesh – the bruises that accompanied the pressure of a robust jaw were too unsightly for him to bear.

He reached a familiar iron knocker and gave it a few hard raps on its metal plate, moving off down the stone steps and standing somewhere inconspicuous. He twirled his sword as he waited beside a bodacious fir tree, his other hand stuffed deep into his medical bag and clutching a vial of something positively dreadful. Contained within the vial was a solution that burned eyes out of their sockets. He had employed it once before with stunning results.

He waited, and then resigned himself to waiting some more. At last, after waiting what he deemed to be considerable time, the doctor stomped back up the steps and repeated his process anew. Standing behind the fir tree, he commenced waiting once more.

Nothing came to pass.

He went up to the door and kicked it, battering a single spot with the heel of his boot until the wood began to change colour and flake away. Still the lord had yet to show his face.

He heard the sound of hooves faintly behind him, and turned with the expectation that Bepo was thundering back to his side, furious that Trafalgar had gone on without using him as a beastly shield.

He saw nothing immediately, but after searching for movement found a speck of brown moving swiftly across a hill, disappearing every few seconds behind trees or other land formations not so conveniently placed by God's hand.

He sighed and leaned on his nodachi. The lord was admittedly active and a recluse in name only. How problematic.

With a slight bounce in his step the doctor called for Bepo. He did not want to attract the lord to his position, however, so his voice did not carry over the green hills as it might have in any other circumstances. Still, he hoped Bepo would appear. For even if Lord Eustass had a precise aim and a gold-plated musket of the highest quality made by a Frenchman, he would still like to see how the lord handled his horse while being pursued by a snapping jaw full of teeth. He imagined it would be an amusing sight to behold.

The more he thought on this imagining, the more he laughed. Lord Eustass on his bay equine, hunted by a vampire and his equally hungry steed. Between himself and Bepo, they could clean up admirably and return to the boggarts with full stomachs.

He loitered, waiting some more for Bepo to appear. He had noticed the lord bring his horse down from a canter to a languid walk, likely to allow some rest. With that, Trafalgar made his decision to explore the barn and see what it offered, as Bepo was clearly on the trail of a hare or something else of much interest to a perpetually starving bear.

In a matter of minutes he pried open the barn doors and peered inside. There were box stalls that appeared freshly mucked out, and he could smell the sweetness of hay above him in a loft, but he could not see nor hear any horses ripe for the borrowing. So he did not try to enter and instead went around the back, down a hill along the side of the barn, and came to an enclosed pasture holding many four-legged creatures of interest.

He half expected to find all the goats slaughtered and the horses galloping away from Bepo, but the air was infused with calm and Trafalgar knew his shapeshifter had not been near. He did not see any chickens, however, so chalked Bepo's absence up to his fondness for plucking feathers from half-alive birds. Of course, Bepo was never one to waste food, so the doctor didn't bother chastising him for playing with the living. Especially since that would mark him out as a hypocrite.

The man climbed the wood beams that made up the fence and sat on top, picking out the sleekest and most muscular of the horses. A few animals had noticed his ominous presence and were shuffling off, but one horse in particular laid his ears back and snorted at him. It had a pelt of dappled grey and Trafalgar quite liked the pattern it wore so proudly. It also was the horse least likely to flee, as he could tell it was the dominant male of the herd.

He returned to the barn and located a halter and a coil of thick rope hitched to a hook that was stuck into the front of the barn. It was really all he needed.

Then he vaulted the fence and into the territory of the animals. The effect was rather immediate. The dapple stallion charged him with teeth clacking, hooves high and poised to trample. Years of swinging up onto Bepo's back in mid-stride proved to be his trump card, and he evaded and grabbed for the unyielding skin that covered the horse's withers.

He was up and seated before the dapple knew quite what had happened, or how he had missed his target.

As a precautionary measure, Trafalgar steeled himself and wrapped a handful of horsehair around his fist. However, he knew the horse had no intentions of bucking him off, or rearing and throwing him in the path of hind hooves. His presence was more than enough to overwhelm.

The horse below him quivered, and Trafalgar leaned forward, beginning to rub small circles into his new steed's neck. It was one of those things Bepo enjoyed, and he could see the motions were having an effect. Enough so that after a few minutes of massage, the horse no longer fidgeted and stamped the ground anxiously, and Trafalgar dismounted to halter him quickly. Now he had reins and a means of control.

He caught sight of a gate and a brown and red blur in the distance, and was off. He would cut down Lord Eustass W. Kidd from his horse, and that would be the fatal end of the matter.

Compared to Bepo's rollicking lope the horse ran smoothly, his vessel gliding over a tranquil sea. He could have let go of the flowing mane and stretched his arms out if he so wished. Instead he held tight, as there was a chance Bepo could catch up and decide on a larger midday snack. And Trafalgar refused to be thrown from an alarmed galloping beast and made to look like an unskilled rider.

He began to distinguish the lord's features, or at least the back of his furred cloak. It covered his horse's hindquarters and rippled in the wind. At the moment, moving along behind him, Trafalgar noticed his horse was dancing in a springy trot, and catching up would take him a matter of minutes.

His eyebrows knitted together as he noticed a change in the pace he'd spurred his steed into. They were covering more ground, moving into a canter and then a gallop. He frowned and contemplated giving a tug to the line of rope attached to the horse's frayed halter, then decided against it. Lord Eustass had just become aware of the stampede of hooves in his wake and the rider in command atop. Dr. Trafalgar gave the eager stallion his head.

He could see the sharp kicks the lord used to jolt his ride into a gallop and winced for the horse's sake. The man was decidedly brutal, yet it was nothing he was just discovering now. However, his rankly abused horse was in a state of confusion, and by the time it was straightened out Trafalgar was already closing. His pursuit lasted a mere minute, and Trafalgar drew his unsheathed sword overhead.

He realized in the second Lord Eustass was in reach of an arcing swing that what he wanted and what the charging beast beneath him wanted were vastly different.

Lord Eustass' horse pulled up first, skittering to a stop with all its weight on its powerful back legs. The lord lurched awkwardly with the momentum but kept his seat. Of course, accidents are instinctively avoided, and Dr. Trafalgar's steed halted with all the gracefulness of a heavy steam engine rolling off its tracks. The decision to revoke a saddle and proper hold on the horse became an instantly regrettable mistake for the doctor.

The sensation of flying through the air, his sword piercing the earth and his body crashing into a certain ill-tempered man nearly took Trafalgar's consciousness from him. He could do nothing as he tipped the lord from his perch and sent them both over the edge and down one of the many grassy hills.

They rolled, Trafalgar clinging to what was close at hand, the lord's thick furred cloak. Thoughts of snuffing him out using the velocity of their travel and the dirt on hand crossed his mind only once before thoughts of his own safety took precedence. Eventually he felt fingers stab into his flesh in an effort to pin him, and at that point the doctor thought it wise to let go of the cloak.

A final rotation together and they separated, Trafalgar kicking at a yielding stomach and receiving a sharp elbow in the thigh.

Eventually a curve in the terrain slowed their descent enough for a measure of control to pass. Trafalgar was on his feet, digging his heels into the side of the hills, his ulster stained horribly but not torn. Lord Eustass went a few more paces before coming to his own stop on his stomach, a feral snarl racing back up the hill to meet Trafalgar's ears.

Trafalgar spared a look over his shoulder to the top of the hill and confirmed his suspicions of the stallion's true intentions. That poor mare – having lost one male she gained another, one that was keen on copulating.

The sight of the dapple-grey mounting the brown brought him out of his dismal mood and into a slightly cheerier one. The whole situation was unfortunate, in his opinion, albeit it was nothing to get angered over. Instead, he turned back to see the lord was still belly down in the grass, fuming.

"Mister Eustass, I believe we tumble into one another far too often!"

The lord half-shouted and half-snarled a response to his verbal prodding, and the result was indecipherable.

Trafalgar clenched his hands and then, all at once, the realization that he had dropped his nodachi at the top of the hill with the mating horses came to pass. He frowned and looked about wildly. Perhaps if he were swift he could cudgel the lord to death before the other took out a pistol and shot him. Or slew him with a hidden blade. Or strangled him with his bare hands. Anything was possible with this man, really.

With a stagger, Trafalgar backed up, as Lord Eustass was clamouring to his feet. Then, most unexpectedly, the lord's right foot gave out and he stumbled to passionately kiss the ground. He tried his legs again, and the same result was granted.

Trafalgar couldn't believe his luck. The man was injured and unable to rise.

He laughed, then angled his head to see the herd of two galloping away from his laughter, clearly startled.

"I daresay some lucky farmer will get your beautiful horses and a new foal!"

"You fucking bloodsucker, you!"

Trafalgar began to come apart at the seams, his chuckling competing with the curses the lord spat at him as he tried time and time again to scramble to his feet.

"You ought to be dead by now!" the lord cried.

Trafalgar was snapped back to the night previous and all humour fled from his face. "It seems your boggart couldn't destroy me, and now he will soon be bound by demon contract to both me and you. Of course, if I kill you, he'll be mine _exclusively_. I've always liked that word, _exclusively_. It excludes all else."

"Thank you, walking dick-tionary," Lord Eustass grumbled through some grass that obscured his mouth. "And what the hell do you mean by _contract_? What the hell have you done to Killer?"

"Oh, he is fine as of now. Marvellous, really. He has yet to do so, but he will pledge loyalty to me in addition to you. Don't think I haven't taken precautions with him, though. Before I left, I decided to leave instructions for him to be bound in seastone cuffs, and their use is primarily the imprisonment of unruly demons. Lesser demons, anyway. It wouldn't work quite so well on you or I. Not that I would need any help picking you off presently.

"As you are _now_, you are at my mercy," the doctor concluded with a sickly smile.

Trafalgar saw Lord Eustass attempt to get to his feet once more, and then find that he could only struggle to stay on his knees. The sight of his right foot twisted from the fall he took made Trafalgar smirk, and he could see the lord was in some degree of pain that he could only imagine.

"Then kill me, already!" Lord Eustass growled through clenched teeth. His eyes were a chalky white with anger, and Trafalgar knew approaching the felled beast would be a deadly mistake.

Besides, a part of him didn't like how easy it would be to put the point of his sword through the lord's heart. It didn't seem fair, didn't seem the best course of action to take. His nose, too, was protesting and making his fangs itch. He wanted blood again, as usual, only the inane desire to taste this cambion's blood was so overwhelming he felt that if he didn't get what he wanted soon he would be the one on Death's doorstep.

"All I ever do is kill, and kill, and kill," the doctor mused, sitting back down on the grass a few feet from the snarling man. "I kill to drink the blood of men and women alike, most of them my patients. It has truly been refreshing to see the face of someone I drank from and know his heart still beats as fiercely as it did then. Had you not sent a boggart to kill me, I might have actually developed some semblance of admiration for you."

Lord Eustass ignored his vague recollection of the time in the fountain outside of the duchess' estate, as well as the closing remark that hinted at something that could have been more, and focused on the information that had been confirmed by the doctor himself. So he was a dealer of death, a death doctor, after all. The red-haired man grimaced as thoughts of being fondled and touched in intimate places came to the forefront of his mind. He wondered how often the doctor inappropriately examined his other patients, especially the ones he deemed fit to be murdered by his hand.

"I imagine you sodomize them upon their deaths."

Trafalgar's brow knitted together, yet he refrained from laughing for the lord's sake. "As a general rule, Mister Eustass, corpses do not make good bedfellows."

"I imagine vampires do not either."

"Not if they're hungry. But, Mister Eustass, you seem to forget that you are unaffected by me. By my caprice serum."

Lord Eustass shook his head wildly, likely trying to sort through a multitude of emotions. "Now which fucking drug was that? The one that roused me?"

"I told you already. There is no drug on the market to produce such an effect to that degree. All I gave you was a shot to lull you into complacency. It relaxes the body. The caprice serum, now that is what made you aroused, and that I don't consider a _drug_. I daresay you won't like knowing what the sole ingredient to _that_ is."

"Tell me already, you damn bloodsucker."

"It is fermented vampire saliva."

"…"

"Like how one ferments grapes to make wine–"

"I understand the concept!" the lord howled. "That is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard!"

"How surprising given the content of your dreams," the doctor said, feigning his best raised-eyebrow-look. "I, of course, think of it as a substance that _est_ _tout_ _naturelle_. Like the use of beeswax on chapped lips. It is perfectly organic, I just never knew until I came across you that it could be used as an aphrodisiac for cambions. Of course, it is still but a theory, as all discoveries are theories. It could only be _you_ I'm affecting in this wa–"

"You talk to damn much," the lord groaned. "Just kill me already."

"I have already changed my mind. Killing you would be superfluous. 'Tis amazing what a single conversation can do for a man." Trafalgar got to his feet again and brushed off his dark slacks, scattering broken bits of green grass back to the earth they belonged against. "In fact, I am currently debating two options: to leave you here to crawl back to your estate on your hands and knees, or to call my trusty white steed to give you and I a lift. I feel I should warn you, though; he may be a bit bloody and sporting a moustache of feathers."

"I would rather crawl through Hell than accept assistance from _you_."

Dr. Trafalgar clapped his hands together, looking delightfully smug. "I suppose if you were unconscious there would be little issue and no decision to make on my part."

"Just try to knock me unconscious. Without your sword, seeing as you seem _dependent_ on it."

The hint of mocking struck a chord with the doctor, and he could not help but rebuttal. "Dependent? No, you mistake me. I hardly need a sword when I have abundant intelligence of the human body. Do I sense a challenge being issued?"

"Call it what you want," spat the lord. "You're still a sick bastard."

"Your compliment flatters me, especially coming from a most esteemed sick bastard like yourself." Trafalgar started forward, his nose leading him. In truth he was not planning on being a helping hand. He was entirely set on warming his insides with a certain juice only this particular man could provide in bountiful abundance. On the ground in front of him, Trafalgar saw wounded prey. He was only following his ingrained instincts, creeping through the long grass towards him, a predator with only one thing in mind.

He could tell, though, that this was not the type of prey he could pounce on and devour. Not if he wanted to avoid injury. What he had before him was a bristling wolf, one that would fight and gnash its teeth whenever Death came close within its reach.

Yet he had a hidden weapon against enamoured cambions. What was more, he didn't need to go to the top of the hill to retrieve it. It was firmly attached to his person.

Quick as he could, Trafalgar undid the buttons on his ulster and went to his slacks, loosening them to show off his physical assets.

Lord Eustass made something akin to a dying groan, and Trafalgar thought he tried to drop his eyes to the grass but was unable to do so. He couldn't blame the man. He knew he looked positively ravishing in the flesh.

He spent no time in letting Lord Eustass become used to his body and rushed forth, crossing the distance that had previously separated them with a few confident strides. Lord Eustass followed the movement of what was unrestrained, his teeth clenched and his eyeballs a stark white.

A heel to the neck was all it would take, perhaps even accompanied by a swipe of dirt in the eyes, and Trafalgar would be able to get what he wanted. He was within reach of the panting man when his mind chose to blind him, and had curved his foot to usher the loose dirt to do his biding when his eyes caught something that had eluded his notice.

The right foot was bent at an angle that should have been excruciating for the lord. Had his foot actually been twisted.

Trafalgar gasped when the lord leapt at him, hands flying to his slacks at the same time his mind cursed his demonic desires for ushering in momentary stupidity. It had never crossed his mind that the lord had the capacity to play as dirty as he. The suddenness of the earth hitting his back brought out the air in his lungs much as it had when he'd sailed off the horse, and he struggled for breath with little success.

Hollow milky eyes with the tiniest hint of pupils blinked rapidly at him. Out of his peripheral as he turned to run he caught the wide, evil grin. He had been completely and utterly fooled. What an actor this man was. His brain and dramatics the doctor had not anticipated. If he were to die, he would die from a tragic mistake on his part.

The lord had seized him using disguised deception and broken his fall using Trafalgar's slim body.

"Caught you, _bloodsucker_."

Lord Eustass panted down on him, strangely sweet breath filling his nostrils with much needed air. "And so, the lion lied down on top of the lamb," Trafalgar replied with a thick wheeze, trying his best to wriggle away. He knew there was little use for struggle, as the lord's weight was surely twice his if not more, but he refused to settle in to meet his undoubtedly gory fate.

"You've surprised me twice now," the lord huffed. "I thought I'd return the favour."

"I never knew trickery was in _your_ blood."

Lord Eustass laughed in his face. "It's unnerving how calm you always stay. I'd like to see you…_panic_, for once."

Trafalgar didn't like the dangerous tone the lord was taking with him. It told him the madman was willing to play with his victim by drawing out his suffering. "Let me go, Mister Eustass. You don't know what I can do. How I can curse you."

"You're bluffing," the lord said plainly. "Killer has told me all about your sort. You're nothing but a bunch of noble-headed, sly, and _weak_ fools."

Trafalgar didn't know whether to laugh or try his best to butt the lord soundly on his proud forehead with his own skull. "In all actuality, I am noble-blooded, and I admit my cunning has gotten me out of more than one pinch, but I don't expect the likes of you to be able to distinguish that I am neither weak nor a fool."

"Your foolish move got you under me, and you can't get away because you're too weak," Lord Eustass explained mockingly.

Trafalgar smiled sweetly despite getting hot in the cheeks and allowed his body to go slack. "Perhaps this is just where I want to be. Under you."

It was the lord's turn to turn from a sickly pallor to a more rouged countenance. He stared down at the dark eyes that had captured his thoughts so wholly in the past few weeks, feeling himself grow feverish. The doctor had a smell he found himself particularly attracted to. The pungent smell of death and blood and man.

He was stirred already from the doctor's playful banter and the unashamed showing of his body but now, with the man under him and completely at his mercy, he felt impossibly roused from his state of stagnation. There was something about holding another in a state of submission that added to his already heightened libido and made him feel lightheaded. He wanted more of this euphoria, and what the lord wanted he was used to getting.

A flash of fear coursed through Trafalgar when he became aware of Lord Eustass' intentions.

The first thing that he could think of that might serve to aid him in getting out of the lord's grip flew out of his mouth. "What would your mother think about this? Bedding another man in a field of daisies?"

The effect of his words was rather spectacular. Lord Eustass' forehead furrowed and his eyes darkened. "Say nothing about my _mother_."

"The succubus? Well, I'm sure she'd find your preferences a bit _queer_, but–"

"I said _quiet_, bloodsucker!"

"Of course, it's not as if she could have lived long enough to see you mature into an adult. Right? According to the lore, incubus children kill their human carriers, and I suspect it's also true of succubus children–"

"You know nothing of my mother! She died when I was young, but she _didn't_ die giving birth to me!"

"You father died first then? Interesting. Your father and mother must have been a bonded pair…" he watched Eustass grow impossibly rigid but thought nothing of it except that he was merely angry. "I guess you began breathing and taking on the appearance of a normal, human child before your mother died and gave you up to your grandfather."

Lord Eustass began to shake. It was strange, for he shook with both anger and anxiety. Killer had told him all he knew about cambions after he'd nearly begged him to do so. One of the things he'd been loath to believe was the form they were born in.

He had no memories of his childhood, and thus no memories of his mother, the mysterious red-haired demon that spawned him and whose painting hung in his manor's halls. Killer had told him the reason for his inability to recall his infancy. He had said that cambions were born with no pulse and no breath; that they were in almost all senses like a stillbirth. Cold to the touch and paler than fresh snow, his species didn't gain any sense of life until seven years had passed. He couldn't even imagine such a long time of inactivity…yet he could believe, for he could recall pieces of his childhood, if it could even be called one. Waking up inside a carriage, held by a man with deep furrows on his brow and cold eyes, and then another vivid memory of being in a bed with the old Lord Eustass hovering over him, a deep frown of disgust on his face.

He scowled at the memories of his dead father and equally dead grandfather. He had very few good ones, if any at all.

He noted with the dimness of a man deep in thought that Trafalgar's breathing was becoming increasingly laboured. He supposed he must have arched his thin, nearly invisible eyebrows enough to be noticed by the doctor, because the man then wheezed out, "_You're heavy_."

"They say that's characteristic of a cambion too," the lord said smugly, pressing his chest to the ground. The momentary anger has dissipated, as well as the anxiety, and he was back to feeling all the rapture that the occasion entailed. Trafalgar made a garbled noise deep in his throat, trying his best to hide it with a louder grunt. He only succeeded in making it seem as if he were in more pain.

Lord Eustass let up. He had no intentions of breaking the vampire's ribs with his weight. Not when he still had the desire to have him…

In a flash he was up on his elbows, gathering limp and slender wrists in his other hand. He pressed the doctor's hands above his head, bending the elbows so they stuck up in the air. He looked almost as if he were asking for it now, like a brothel whore…the sight made him more lustful, if it were even possible.

The doctor regained his breath enough to continue their conversation. It was obvious by now, pressed so firmly under the lord, the lascivious intent his physical body had. Dr. Trafalgar had long neglected to remark upon the stiffness pushing against his thigh, making it sore with its throbbing. He decided to redeem himself.

"They say cambions are sometimes called sexual vampires," said Trafalgar. "So I suppose you and I are both guilty of preying on one another. Only we desire different things."

"Really? The last time I had you trapped under me you were all too eager to spread your legs wide and point your toes north."

"For an ugly man like you? I must have been blood-drunk. I did feast on you, after all." All of a sudden, a wind blew from behind and pushed the scent of hot blood raging beneath flesh into Trafalgar's nostrils. His eyelids flickered and he felt a peculiar faintness attack his mind before retreating. It was like getting to one's feet too quickly in the morning. It caused his mind to stagger, and he recovered with the sinking feeling of knowing he had a weakness that the lord comprehended all too easily.

Lord Eustass snorted indignantly at the insult. "I'm hauntingly alluring. How else would I have been able to so easily bed a dozen women in a brothel _nearly all at once_," he hissed, eyes narrowing as his grin widened.

"Well, it _was _a brothel. You _did _pay them to open their syphilis-infested snatches, did you not?"

Lord Eustass laughed loudly instead of crushing his skull for that comment, so Trafalgar was relieved in that respect. However, he could not tell if Lord Eustass understood his biting comment in its entirety. He made no effort to clarify it, of course. No need to play the _torero _and tempt the bull with a red _muleta_. He was too close in range. Inches from the man's neck, yet held in such a way that it was impossible to lunge and give him a playful nip on the collarbone.

If he could bite, he would. It would surely spell his freedom.

Or his doom.

"My breeding is superior to yours," the lord declared abruptly. He felt as if he still had to validate himself, as the vampire clearly thought he was the godlier creature. "I am stronger, faster, more intelligent–"

"Disillusioned. _That_ is the adjective I would have chosen for you in particular," Trafalgar said with a saccharine grin. He shifted his elbows and upper arms, testing the bonds that held him. Secure as iron. The lord was unquestionably stronger, certainly pinned him to the ground with rapid speed, and indeed he had tricked _him_, a _vampire_ whose survival depended on his cleverness. Yet he was still disillusioned in Trafalgar's opinion, even if his opinion was a humble one in these circumstances.

His interruption cut the lord's tongue fully out of his thick gullet. Still, he didn't receive a deathblow. No, quite the opposite. Instead, it became quite clear to Dr. Trafalgar that Lord Eustass was keen on humiliating him before destroying his body and mind.

He bit into his lower lip with his elongated fangs, the sharp pain flashing beneath his eyelids as the man took his beastly claws to his overcoat. He heard the fabric ripping, the buttons popping off, the thread and seams separating. His favourite coat, ruined by a bloody-eyed cambion. The fur trim, a rare snow leopard pelt in stark black and white, would be ruined by his blood sooner rather than later.

With his eyes shut against the marauder of his pride, Trafalgar felt the stabbing fingers reach his rumpled undershirt, and then nails scrapped against his skin, leaving a fiery trail of aching behind.

He dared open his eyes and saw, off to one side, half of his coat torn clean away from his body. Then he looked up, expecting the frenzied glare of contracting pupils, and instead found the lord looking down on his stomach as it heaved with indignation.

"For every needle you stuck in me, and every teasing remark," the lord whispered, running his hand down the sleek, unmarred chest before him. Then, without warning and with incredible strength and speed, he flipped Trafalgar over and pushed him against the ground, his skin glowing with vengeance.

* * *

**A.N.:** My apologies for the delay in posting this. Things have been stressful lately and probably won't be improving for a while…but I'll still try my best to do a bit of writing here and there. Thanks for the support guys! I read all of your review carefully and love each and every one of them. :)


	14. Chapter XIV

_**Warning:**_Explicit sexual/violent scene ahead. You've been warned.

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter XIV

* * *

Trafalgar knew the moment his cheek pressed into the dirt hard enough to leave imprints on his skin and the lord's fingers curled under the band of his trousers that he really had little chance of escape. With that settling into his brain, a fresh calm spread throughout his body and he prepared himself to be the source of the lord's pleasures.

He could retain some sense of dignity, even if it was only in his mind.

The wind eased up over their enmeshed bodies again and Trafalgar smelt the tang of sweetness that had been the cause of his folly. The wind caressed his bare buttocks, and he felt some comfort in knowing that if his mangled, naked corpse were to lie in this place to rot the wind would still give him kisses until all traces of his physical body disappeared.

It was a personal fault of his to become melodramatic when faced with depressing conditions. He could remember one or two times on board the old naval man-o-war as a surgeon, sailing into and around the Florian Triangle, when he'd felt this theatrical. It was a sad excuse for a defence mechanism. Freud would have smacked both his cheeks.

A glimmer of hope made him thrash, his wrists falling from the grasp of the lord above him. Those hopes were dashed when his neck was crushed downward, fingers in his hair. He sputtered and heaved, and tried to twist his arms around in such a way that he could claw at the hand making him lick butcher's doorstep like a hungry mutt.

He refused to die like this, fingers probing him with little regard for what he suffered. He flinched and clenched his muscles as a particularly invasive digit smashed against a sensitive part of his internal being. He made a noise between a whimper and a very distressed grunt, and felt the attentions to his buttocks pause and then resume with marginally less force than before.

"Make that sound again," the lord ordered in a threatening whisper that the wind carried to his ears. His fingers recommenced their search for his trigger, and Trafalgar spat his own blood from his punctured lip onto the grass beneath him. His accidental wound was already scabbing over in his mouth, and he was glad of it because his blood was disgusting, the vilest of all tastes the world had to offer. If he could have one thing for his funeral, it would be a clean mouth.

With a clean mouth, he could also speak without grimacing. Yet he refused to do so either way, which was perhaps more infuriating for the lord than his refusal to make animalistic noises for his sensory pleasure.

He remained defiantly silent even when the lord massaged a sensitive part of him that made him want to moan and cry for more.

He took a ragged breath of dry dirt and tried to move his feet again. At some point, the lord had pinned his lower body with his own and it was impossible to move due to the pressing earth that had come up to meet him. He could wriggle his hips, but he couldn't get very far using haggard side to side motions that were staled by the lord's knees on either side of him. His efforts certainly could not get the man to stop violating him, his one free hand wedged between their tangled bodies to access Trafalgar in a way few had the privilege to.

The doctor groaned as he felt the digit now probing a pleasurable spot not so deep within him and closed his eyes. In a way, in a very sick and twisted way, he was enjoying himself. His life had been so damn tame up until he met Lord Eustass, and so damn repetitive. Never before had he met his match, someone able to put him into a compromising situation. Their relationship, if it could be called one, was nonsensical at its finest.

Lord Eustass' hand glided up his back and slid down under his stomach, lifting his body to get to its destination. He had closed his eyes, but his ears would remain forever open. He could hear the heavy panting above him, gauge every breath, and the tiniest of hitches that occurred every time he shifted his hips so the abrasive fabric of the lord's pants rubbed against them both. For a minute he was given a reprieve from the heavy body that bore down on him, but he still could not rise with the hand on his neck. Then, there was skin.

He squeezed his eyes shut, imagining a better place for the deed to occur. A warm bed, a chaise with ample padding, hell, even a wooden table would be better than this barbaric brutality. Something he was acutely aware of poked between his buttocks as the lord descended, oddly slick but weightier and thicker than any human he'd been with before murdering or tossing away with memory fogging drugs. The rumour about the cambion species being larger and more muscular despite relatively humble appearances was indeed truth.

One agonizing stroke and Trafalgar would have mouthed dirt had he not curled his arm around so he could bite into the tattered sleeve of his overcoat. It didn't lessen the pain, but it saved him from bleating like a wounded lamb and eliciting a response from the man inside of him, slowly withdrawing only to plunge deeper.

The hand on Trafalgar's neck eased up on its pressure, and he took a deep breath to clear his mind of the haze it had regressed into. The initial pain had tapered off, though he suspected that it was some sort of numbing effect much like his saliva that was doing the trick. His thighs were wet with something thin and viscous, and he realized that while the lord may have looked vaguely human, his real make-up was vastly different.

The angle he was being taken at was terrible. No matter how eager the lord was he had to have felt that it was a challenge to keep the pace he wanted at the angle he had Trafalgar trapped under him, sandwiched in between a hard body and the earth below. Trafalgar just made it more noticeable every time he clenched and bucked his thin hips in hopes of causing pain. That and he wanted to try his best to prevent Lord Eustass from achieving an all-embracing sheath.

He could tell he had pissed the lord off sufficiently with his unpretentious avoidance of his fate when the hand on the back of his neck became an arm under his chin, forcibly yanking his upper body towards the sun overhead so his back pressed more inflexibly against the lord's chest. His hands dangled, scrapping the dirt with his fingernails. It was odd, but he was not choking. Especially when the lord adjusted them again and planted him firmly on his palms.

Trafalgar grunted at the sudden allowance of his arms and raised one to sink nails into the thick forearm around his neck. He heaved great gulps of air through his nostrils now, and the scent of whatever sort of arousal that was pouring from the lord tricked his senses into thinking he were drawing blood. Whatever sort of demon seed he was being soaked in and possessed by, it was almost as intoxicating as Trafalgar's drink of choice.

That deeply worried him.

He tucked his chin. It was a mistake on the lord's part to move from the control of fingers to the limited control of a forearm. With his new leverage, slipping downwards just enough to give his fangs something to sink into was too easy.

He pierced the skin and held his ground, locking his jaw and forcing his arms to remain rigid in their positions. He could hear a strangled grunt near his ear, the lord's face just inches above him, hot breath on the back of his neck.

He refused to be dislodged now that the life juice of Lord Eustass was flowing across his tongue and dribbling down his chin. Yet that didn't initiate a further struggle. The lord did nothing to rescue his bleeding appendage. Though, he did react. He got unbelievably rougher, and Trafalgar was surprised to find out his body liked that.

Any pain he may have felt before was completely overshadowed by bliss. Trafalgar got what he wanted. His original plan, to kill the man, had an epilogue that featured a parting dinner, and though his plan had failed in the worst of ways he found himself drinking the richest of wines. Their courtship really was one of irrational desires.

The demon's body writhed against him, impaling with every forward motion of his resolute hips. He could hear as well as feel the fluid that was oddly not as sticky as he thought it would be. In fact, it was rather like oil, only denser, and smelt very much redolent of the most passionate lovemaking. The sweet-smelling aroma Trafalgar chalked up to a part of the cambion charm, for surely all cambions were imbued with the same peculiarities? Or was it just this one who was so attractive in physicality?

His mind wandered as he felt the swelling of the lord and the blood gather in his stomach, making him purr aloud with ecstasy. He knew making these noises only served him a harsher treatment, but he could not stop them from flowing out, and his stomach grumbled unrestrained with delight.

There was a point, though, when he slipped. Or, rather, his fangs unhitched themselves from their ride, and the weight of his upper body fell to his hands, his back arching as the lord continued to move them onward with his persistent thrusts. He sputtered, the last gush of blood catching in his throat and making him choke. The lord's arm went under his belly, grabbing him, searching for something with visceral fingers. His instincts were coming to him, and from what Trafalgar knew of the incubi and the succubi, they reached uttermost gratification only as long as their mating partners did before them.

Trafalgar could hypothesize that the majority of cambion instincts concerning the sinful acts of the flesh were derived from their demon parentage.

He suppressed a moan when fingers clamped down on him, cushioning him in rugged warmth. A lingering, firm touch coupled with the taste on his tongue was enough to sate him, and he shuddered in his release, giving his essence in fair exchange for the lord's.

Thoughts of death had been so removed from his mind that Trafalgar was surprised when he felt the hand reappear on his neck. This time the fingers didn't extend up his neck into his hair to push his head down; rather they curled around his neck. He gasped when they began to tighten around him, squeezing harder with every passing moment, reflecting how achingly close Lord Eustass was.

Did he even realize what he was doing? Dr. Trafalgar was certain he didn't, not when he was so lost to his pleasure.

Worn out and wheezing, trying to get what little air he could down his windpipe, Trafalgar could do nothing but try to hold out against the carnal onslaught. His mind was growing hazy, and the weight on top of him was almost too much for him to bear any longer. His euphoria was fading into the background of grunts and sensuous groans. He began to feel everything, all of the pleasure and pain in a rapid burst, and then felt the lord's desire coat his insides, filling and possessing his body. The hand around his neck wringed him. He thought his neck had been crushed.

He opened his mouth to cry out in distress, and found his sight slipping from him before he could feel his upper body hit the ground.

Lord Eustass let go of the doctor's neck, planting both of his hands upon the ground on either side of the slouched vampire. He knew instantly that the doctor was unconscious, though his body still vibrated and shuddered. He unsheathed himself and watched a viscid river of fluid run down caramel skin and stain the ground beneath. Then he raised his eyes to the horizon to check for onlookers.

The wind was their only witness.

He pushed the vampire over onto his back, looking down on his gnarled form with an odd sense of calm. He hadn't felt this relaxed in…as long as he could remember. He was completely and utterly settled. His head had stopped cycling malicious thoughts, his libido was depleted, and his sweaty body felt delightfully worked. Perhaps a nap was in order.

Only he had to deal with the vampire first.

With a long exhalation that was laced with contentment, the lord ran his fingers up and down the body beneath him. The body that had solved his problems and cleared his head of nagging thoughts and abstract, violent images. It was covered in dirt and the remnants of clothing almost entirely torn away. Then there was the blood. None of it, as far as he could tell, belonged to the body beneath him. It was all his.

He looked at his arm, drying flakes of blood peeling away from his skin. There was no open wound. It had already sealed with the aftercare of the vampire's saliva. His eyes went from his arm to the smeared blood on the face of the vampire and down its neck, noticing the bluish marks on that neck where his fingers had brutalized it.

_It_? _The vampire_? He shook his head to clear it of the fog that had wafted in. This was Trafalgar under him, not some sort of animal, some kind of _it_. He frowned deeply at the dehumanization that had come without much thought and lowered his face to the chest of the other, noting the fatigued yet strong breathing. He was going to live, if he were left here or if he were moved. And Lord Eustass fancied he would move him.

It was beginning to look like he could have his sex slave after all.

Excitement welled up inside him and he scrambled to get to his feet, readjusting his clothing so he appeared decently enough. When he finished, he circled the unconscious body of the doctor before stooping to pick him up, throwing his upper half over his shoulder. The doctor was much lighter than the lord had assumed, and he immediately began traversing his fields with long strides. His horses were nowhere in sight, yet he wasn't irritated. For this man he would have traded all of his animals – even the finest of his horses that had been imported from the other side of the sea – for this one demonic humanoid.

The satisfaction he was experiencing faded with every step he took that knocked the doctor's limp arm against his lower back. His grin receded and he found himself worrying that the doctor was somehow playing him, and would escape when the time was right. He couldn't see his face, and that unsettled the lord. Before he got exceedingly anxious, Lord Eustass let the man's upper body fall downwards, catching his back with his arm and readjusting his grip from the man's used buttocks to under his knees. Trafalgar's face showed few signs of awakening, and Lord Eustass let his head dangle over the side of his arm, bobbing with his heavy footfall.

They were still a distance away from the comfort of the Eustass estate. There was not much to look at that the lord was not used to seeing out his manor windows or on the back of one of his chargers, and as a result his eyes often strayed to Trafalgar's face and his exposed body, tracing muscles and dirt stains. He appeared very much exhausted and exploited, and Lord Eustass found himself experiencing mixed feelings when looking down at the damage he'd wrought. He had done terrible things in the past, killed people when he was exceedingly angry, but none of those past events evoked in him the feeling he was experiencing now, a feeling that encompassed him like a cold winter wind, rushing throughout his body to put a damper on his happiness.

It was almost regret. Or, quite possibly, it _was_ regret. Lord Eustass had not experienced regret, but he'd had the emotion that was remorse described to him on more than one occasion by the old man who'd been his victim and now lay buried near the pond on the estate. When he'd killed people, others told him that he was supposed to feel some sort of remorse for their souls. He had never felt anything for them, but with Trafalgar there was some probing feeling curdling in the pit of his stomach. It was a strange feeling of sadness, repentance, and was tinged with bitterness that made the lord's mouth grow sour. He looked down on Trafalgar and felt and knew the emotion: remorse.

It was a dull ache, not nearly enough to make him keel over with tears but just enough to spoil his good mood.

He watched the doctor's dark hair sway softly with the wind's caress, his head jolting with each step the lord took. Eventually the harsh motion became unwelcome, and he shifted the body so the motion ceased altogether and his shoulder cradled Trafalgar's cheek. His eyelids still stayed sealed shut, and Lord Eustass felt a strange longing to see those dark eyes staring up at him, even if all they did was judge and mock him.

Instead, all he could do was admire the blood on his cheeks and his rouged lips. A part of him liked the idea of sharing something visceral with the doctor, and another part of him was repulsed by it. While that part of him may have once been the dominating one, the part of him that found the doctor undeniably beautiful was beginning to overshadow his previous opinion.

With a snort, Lord Eustass cleared his mind of rambling thoughts that would irritate him and focussed on walking. He managed to get a considerable distance before he looked down again at the person in his arms. What he saw made him nearly drop the man on the ground.

Trafalgar was staring right up at him, his expression controlled and unreadable.

Lord Eustass promptly tightened his grip, fearing the man would attempt an attack in order to immediately flee. He only had the advantage so long as he had Trafalgar trapped in his arms. In response, the doctor shut his eyes, then cracked one open just slightly so a sliver of his pupil showed through his thick eyelashes.

He half expected Trafalgar to make some sort of snide, sarcastic remark, but his mouth remained closed and oddly undisturbed, his fangs hidden from view and his limbs as limp as they had been in unconsciousness.

"Trafalgar." He got no response, only a twitch of eyelids and that same listless pupil gazing up at him, likely not even seeing him. That, or his cloudy eye saw but didn't comprehend what it was that it saw.

Did he really hurt the man this badly? So bad that he couldn't muster up the strength to speak or open his eyes fully? Lord Eustass felt a pinching in his chest, and clutched the body closer to his own, bringing Trafalgar's face closer to his, so his eyes were level with his shoulder.

"Trafalgar." He tried speaking up again, in case Trafalgar hadn't heard him the first time.

Trafalgar's breath on his neck told him more about the man than words could have expressed. It was thick and gaunt. Slow. Yet it wasn't exactly laboured. Instead, it was focussed. Like Trafalgar was planning to do something and was using this time to recover.

"Guess your plot to destroy me went horribly, horribly awry." Lord Eustass smirked, but his mouth fell into a frown when he saw his words had once again gotten little response. "What a twisted result. Your life ought to be written out and preformed as a tragedy."

Trafalgar's eyes opened fully, and Lord Eustass found himself grinning as it became clear that getting under Trafalgar's skin was not such an impossible feat. "I concur only with my beauteous life being written out. Written as a _tragedy_, I disagree. I have no hamartia, whereas should your life be written out as a tragic drama, your fatal flaw would be your monstrous proclivity towards maiming beautiful men."

With that said, Trafalgar closed his eyes again, leaving Lord Eustass steaming with vexation. "You seem to think yourself _perfect_."

"I am perfection," Trafalgar whispered, his eyes remaining closed to the strong jawline and deep red orbs peering down at him. "Or, rather, I _was _perfection. But my perfection has been tarnished."

Lord Eustass barked out a rough laugh.

"Oh, you think it is because you have dominated me a mere handful of times, so few that I could count them on one hand?"

Abruptly, Lord Eustass ceased laughing.

"What happened today…was nothing." The lord stopped walking, glaring downwards with a sneer on his face. Was Trafalgar really implying that _he_, too,was nothing? "I am bound by my own desires, desires that are not so different from yours. I made the mistake, today, of giving in to my hunger for your blood and that alone is how I know I'm tarnished."

"So it is not _precisely_ me, but my blood that has caused you to fall from grace?" the lord asked, already knowing the answer. The tiny smile that curved rouged lips confirmed what he knew. "You are a strange, disgusting creature."

"Made all the more disgusting by you," Trafalgar whispered, his words floating gently on the wind. Lord Eustass curled his lip and shook the doctor, but he could already tell by the way Trafalgar's body sagged inwards towards his chest that the vampire was no longer with him. Instead he had retreated to a land of sleep from exhaustion.

Lord Eustass reached his empty manor at last. With no one home, he was free to do as he pleased without the inquisitive eyes and eavesdropping ears of anyone else hampering his progress.

He entered his courtyard with a wicked grin splitting his face.

-oOo-

Lord Portgas entered Duchess Jewelry's courtyard, where servants and stableboys were swarming like worker bees in the presence of their queen. Ahead he could see their queen sitting on a rather ornate wooden chair under the shade of a parasol, which was being held over her head by a particularly sweaty looking young man with gangly arms. Much to the lord's surprise as he strode up, she leapt to her feet to meet him.

"Afternoon, duchess," he said rather too plainly, and he could see the eyes of the man equipped with the parasol widen. He followed the duchess out into the sun, and she turned on him and shooed him away with a flick of her wrist, much like how one bats at a persistent fly.

"Go, Apoo! Make yourself useful elsewhere."

Lord Portgas watched the man stalk away while the duchess came towards him, then quirked an eyebrow along with a smile when he saw the man turn around and make an ugly face at the duchess' back.

His rapidly widening smile was mistaken by the duchess. "Oh, I'm happy to see you, too, Lord Portgas!"

His smile vanished, and he could hardly avoid a chaste greeting kiss on the cheek. His skin twitched uncomfortably where Duchess Jewelry had laid her lips upon him, and he resisted the urge to claw at his face. Not that he could, as the duchess' hands were resting upon his arms and keeping them snugly at his side. Then she looped one arm around his right elbow, and he knew he would be hard pressed to find an escape route.

"How are you today, my Lord?"

"Marvellous." He tried to keep the dryness from his tone. "Thank you for notifying me of that painting in your letter, that was quite kind of yo–"

"Oh, yes, the painting!" she interrupted. "Yes, yes. Well, we can get to the painting later. I think we ought to take a leisurely boat out on my lake. You'll like it, I am sure of this!"

He had no chance to offer his opinion for the contrary, as the duchess struck out and dragged him along behind her. She yelled at some of her servants, and they scrambled to obey her commands, most seemingly suspecting her words. He realized, then, that the entire affair had been planned well in advance, and it was likely to be a long day for him.

He groaned and resigned himself to his fate.

Just this morning Marco had woken him with a kiss, and that had considerably brightened what he'd thought was going to be a bleak day from sunrise to sunset. He'd also asked Marco once more if he'd like to be his more favoured company for the day, and had been refused coldly much in the same way as before. Yet he hadn't cared too much, for Marco had smiled in the morning with enough radiance to warm his entire body and keep him happy throughout the day.

Or so he'd thought at the time. Duchess Jewelry was certainly cooling him down now, talking senselessly about the weather and absently stroking the inside of his elbow through his coat. He wasn't sure what the repetitive motion meant, but he didn't like it coming from her. So when the duchess moved away to order someone to launch the little canoe painted in the same pastel green that her favourite hat was coloured with, Lord Portgas seized the opportunity to break their physical union.

The duchess tried to tactfully regain his arm, but instead Lord Portgas strode out to the dock where the boat was being set up. It was a rude move, but a necessary move. The duchess merely followed him.

"The breeze will take us out," the duchess announced. She always gave him her best cheery tone and reserved her scathing and snappish commands for her servants. "We can land on the other side of the lake easily enough. It takes about an hour."

An hour. Lord Portgas closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. He could already feel his patience melting with the midday sun. "Actually, I'm a good rower. Give me a paddle and I'll get us across," he said, not at all counting on the breeze. From the way it was blowing and gently tousling his hair, it would take all afternoon to reach the other side of the lake. He knew that the duchess was aware of this, too.

Rather than stand around to be manipulated by the duchess, Lord Portgas took it upon himself to search the area's servants who held various items that could or could not go into the canoe at the duchess' discretion. His eyes landed on a particular servant from before, whom he remembered had been addressed as Apoo. This same gangly fellow offered him a glossy pinewood paddle and a discrete grin, clearly enjoying how the duchess glared at them both and set her lips into a highly unattractive, pursed frown.

"Thank you, sir," Lord Portgas said. He returned the amused grin.

"My pleasure, Lord Portgas," Apoo said, his voice peculiarly melodious. Perhaps, the lord thought, he sang. He seemed to have the voice for it.

Lord Portgas didn't dwell too much on the man, and instead dropped himself into the canoe. He placed the paddle down lengthwise and then turned to offer the duchess his hand. She came up on the dock and looked down on the canoe and him, eying up the paddle that could so easily shorten their time together when employed by an able seaman, which she knew the lord was underneath his vest and white undershirt.

"M'lady."

Duchess Jewelry was not about to be enticed by the sweetness in the lord's tone. "Oh, _do_ remove that paddle. The breeze is more than enough!"

"Just in case it is not, I would like to keep this at hand," the lord said, subtly arguing back. "As it is quite hot today, and the sun is shining brightly, we shouldn't be out on the lake for too long or else we'll end up with dark skin regardless of your parasol. Such would be unfortunate for a lady like yourself, would it not?"

The duchess scoffed and finally took his hand, and he helped her into the canoe. Someone shoved them off after equipping the duchess with a stronger and larger parasol, and Lord Portgas let himself glow from that momentary victory.

After a few minutes of awkward shuffling and adjusting herself, the duchess looked up at him with the same confident and unabashed stare that had so unnerved him. "Isn't this nice?" she asked, gesturing daintily around her. It was a move that almost brought out a snort from the lord, as there were few things dainty about the duchess to begin with. "It's so quiet out here, and the sun is so warm."

Lord Portgas nodded, and tried to restrain himself and keep from reaching for the paddle by clasping his hands together. "Quite," he mumbled. The duchess seemed about ready to go off about the condition of the lake, or perhaps more about the weather, and the lord scrambled to make sure the next hour or so wouldn't be filled with just one voice ringing out. "Actually, if you would, could you tell me about that painting you've recently acquired? I'd like to hear how you came across it and what exactly it pictures."

The duchess blinked at him, apparently having forgot the reason she was about to call him out here. Then she slid him a smile and began. "Well, no doubt you've heard that the navy have docked down at Sabaody's port?"

Lord Portgas blinked. No, he did not know. He voiced as much.

"Oh! But it is true! A certain acquaintance of mine, whom I do believe you've met – Admiral X. Drake? yes, he – informed me that they'd captured a pirate ship with valuables on board, likely stolen from a merchant. However, there were things on board that His Majesty wasn't particularly interested in, chief among them art pieces. Now, Drake is no collector, but he put my name forward to–"

Ace's eyes strayed to the far side of the lake, and he fancied he missed a lot of useless words that didn't interest him in the slightest. When he turned back to give her a scrap of attention, he found he hadn't missed much.

"–and that was it then. I got the painting and a few vases, because nobody wants a painting of a _pirate _ship in their home. Of course, I'm always attracted to exotic art like that, and Silvers Rayleigh is just the perfect pai–"

"Duchess, I think I will begin to paddle us to shore, if you don't mind," Ace said, interrupting the spiel in front of him. The duchess stopped twirling the staff of her parasol around in her fingers long enough to give him a bewildered stare.

"B-but we've only been out here for…" she trailed off, trying to settle on a number. It was obvious that she had no idea how much time actually did elapse when she opened her mouth and let loose a torrent of words. "Well, not _nearly _enough time!"

"Enough time for me. It is too hot to be out here, unless one was going for a swim afterwards. But, alas, like many seamen I cannot swim," Lord Portgas admitted, looking down into the inky depths of the lake with distain.

"Neither can I," the duchess said with a sweet smile. Lord Portgas couldn't help himself as he imagined tipping the boat over so both passengers aboard went asunder. Then he chastised himself for the thought. Drowning the duchess would leave a heavy weight on his conscience, and besides, he could not swim either and would die the same watery death. That would leave his Marco all alone, and that was a thought that was simply unbearable.

"I have been thinking, Ace – may I call you that? – whether or not to tell you that my mother knew yours quite well." His eyes widened, and he willingly gave the duchess his devout attention. "Actually, I think part of the reason they knew one another was because they were both charmers of some degree, though my mother certainly never limited herself to a certain design."

Lord Portgas blinked. He truly had no idea what Duchess Jewelry was going on about. "Charmers?"

She waved off his confusion. "Charmers. Your mother charmed plants, did she not?"

His eyes widened. The duchess knew what should have been a carefully kept secret, and the straightforward way she spoke of it aloud made the lord shake. "She did," he whispered.

Duchess Jewelry nodded, satisfied that he neither tried to deny it or call her ridiculous. "My mother was a charmer too, but she was also a lot of other things, including a witch."

The sun beat down on Lord Portgas as he froze, searching the duchess' face for signs of falsity. There were none. She was telling the utmost truth, and because of that the lord badly wished the breeze would pick up and push them against the other shore, for he didn't want to stay in the presence of the duchess any longer.

"They were good friends," the duchess assured him with a smile that the lord couldn't tell was fake or real. "I thought you should know."

"What did your mother specialize in?" Lord Portgas asked, unable to contain his question. He needed to know, because there was a chance, even though it would be slight that…

"Manipulations of the physical world. And yes, before you ask, I inherited her abilities, too. I have witching capabilities."

Lord Portgas sucked in copious amounts of humid air as the duchess seized his hand in both of hers. He hadn't noticed until now, but her fingernails were sharpened to ominous points, and her hands were so silken smooth that he thought them almost too childish even for a noblewoman. He watched their hands, wholly unprepared for a single word to change the appearance of his knuckles. Veins grew more prominent, the skin gathered in wrinkles and sagged, and his knuckles were bonier than they ever were before. He was looking down at the hand of a man aged by time, time that he'd yet to actually experience.

He looked up in shock, utterly mortified, and the duchess smiled innocently as if she hadn't just manipulated his life.

* * *

**A.N.:** Sorry for not posting this sooner! Moved back home from university, just starting to take time for myself again! XD


	15. Chapter XV

_**...**_

* * *

_**Caprice**_

Chapter XV

* * *

Lord Portgas was speechless, his mouth agape, unable to form words to express his revulsion. He had never expected to find a witch in Sabaody, much less one in such a high rank and with such horrific witching capacities.

She swiped a hand over the back of his winkled, aged one, said an indecipherable word, and all at once his hand was back to its proper age. As soon as he was cured, he yanked his hand back to his chest defensively and examined it. It was normal, though it still felt odd. Whether it was his imagination or not he couldn't tell.

"I can make it go the other way too. Keep a person forever young. Some call it eternal youth," the duchess said as they locked gazes. A cold chill swept across Lord Portgas's neck, and he realized that the wind was blowing hard over his cold sweat. They were drifting quickly, and he likely wouldn't need the paddle at the rate they skirted the waves.

The boat began to rock from east to west with the waves the wind kicked up. Duchess Jewelry looked out at the lake with puckered lips, the faintest bit of concern marring her brow.

_Of course, she can't swim_, Lord Portgas thought. _I could easily knock her into the water and she'd flail around and float on her face, then eventually gather water and sink. That's what witches do when they're terrified in water…_

He moulded his teeth together behind his lips so she couldn't see his edginess. She spoke again. "Lord Portgas, we could be _marvellous_ together."

"Excuse me?" breathed the lord, not entirely sure where she was headed but none too keen to find out.

"I have a power that few can match," the duchess said, raising her hand. Lord Portgas tried his best not to flinch, or let her know that she had power over him. "We could be King and Queen," she said simply, and it was enough.

It was definitely enough.

_She wants me to guide her to the One Piece. She wants to buy her throne. _The lord's hands quivered at the thought of resigning himself to a ship bound for Raftel. Not only would it be a perilous journey fraught with unimaginable dangers, but he'd be stuck in the company of the duchess for enough days to make him contemplate jumping over the gunwale or hanging himself from a yardarm. It would not be possible to make the journey with her, and frankly he had no desire to go at it even alone.

"I have a carrack," the duchess said next, smoothing down the front of her dress. "She sails well. She has voyaged to the New World and back."

"That is no small feat," Lord Portgas said slowly. He did not agree or deny the duchess anything; to do either was folly. He knew enough about her to see that she saw her way, and her way only, as fit. Agreeing to sail with her would spell his death; disagreeing to sail would force her hand.

He'd seen enough of her hand changing his skin to last him a long time.

He grabbed for the paddle alongside the canoe and began to steer the ship. Then he took control of the conversation. "A carrack has a capacity of about 60 men, carrying 20 guns. Do you really think this to be enough? While a carrack is steadier and safer for a crew to sail, it is not so swift as the caravel. Perhaps, even, a smaller galleon may be the best choice, as it is a ship that could take on much damage and still maintain course. In fact, the galleon is often credited as the improvement of the carrack, the elongation of the hull and the lowering of the forecastle being–"

"Are you suggesting I have invested in the wrong vessel?" the duchess asked, her top lip curling. Volatile. "Besides, it _could_ carry 70-80 men if we squeeze, as there will no doubt be deaths along the way, and the caravel could not afford that margin. As for the galleon–"

Lord Portgas let her go off on her side of the argument. He frowned and began to paddle, tempering the waves around them that threatened to knock them over. After a particularly large wave knocked a spray over the side and onto the duchess' dress, their conversation ceased altogether and the lord could focus on getting them back to shore. He was quite finished paying the duchess a visit.

They landed on the far side of the lake to a number of servants that scrambled to help the duchess to her feet. One removed a slightly damp petticoat from her shoulders and another put on a fresh one while Lord Portgas hauled the canoe easily over the bank where it wouldn't float off. He looked up in time to see the duchess slap a servant's cheek for trying to put an additional petticoat on her, likely to ward off any chills.

The girl was young still, and Lord Portgas felt the sting on her cheek as if he himself had been struck. They caught each other's eyes and he noticed that hers were an unusual dark violet. That, or the sun that beat down on them all was playing with his sight. Nonetheless, he went straight to her, and the hand that had been raised to cradle her abused cheek dropped to her side obediently.

He could feel curious eyes on his back as he stopped before her. Yes, definitely violet eyes. So he had not been mistaken.

He withdrew a handkerchief and handed it to her. She took it, her mouth agape and her eyes wide. She stuttered something, and he indicated his cheek to tell her that hers was wet from the lake water that had been sprayed onto the duchess' palm.

She rubbed her cheek and tried to return the soft cloth, but the lord just looked at her, this small slight creature, and noticed that she seemed poorly dressed for the weather, long sleeves of heavy dark fabric that hid every inch of her skin except for that around her neck. He eyed her neck, and that was when he realized she was not exactly blushing as he'd first believed.

No, there were definitely scales there, pink and small and hardly noticeable as they remained near the back of her neck near her hairline. Yet, he noticed them becoming more and more prominent.

He looked away and saw that the duchess was fighting with someone else who was trying to get her to change her shoes. They were at enough distance away that he felt comfortable leaning down slightly and speaking with her.

"What's your name?" he asked carefully.

She gathered her shoulders and perked up a little, obviously still in shock that the lord was acknowledging her existence at all. "K-Keimi, m-m'Lord."

"Portgas," he said simply in return. "Tell me, Keimi, do you enjoy serving the duchess?"

He realized the cruelty of his question when she squirmed and just barely managed to squeak out a yes. Obviously she was lying; she could do nothing but in her position. "My apologies, Keimi. I have one more question, however, if you'll be so kind to answer me. Do you know how to cook a decent meal? Be honest with me this time."

He was indeed cruel.

"I know how to cook basic things," she said quietly, and he had to strain his ears to hear her small voice. "I cook for Duchess Jewelry sometimes. I am, uhm, learning, sir."

He nodded, absently, and drew back. The girl curtsied before him and scurried away, and he watched her go with renewed interest as her hair was blown from her back. He could still see the scales that doubtlessly ran down the length of her spine.

He felt the duchess' hand curling around the crook of his arm. "Shall we?" she asked sweetly, knowing fully well he'd been having a rather odd conversation with one of her maids. It struck her as rude, but she did not voice the girl's presence. It was he who did.

"Would you consider selling that girl's services to me?" he asked when they were well on their way back towards the Jewelry manor. "I am in need of a maid. As you well know, my estate is grossly understaffed."

The arm wrapped around his elbow stiffened, and their shoulders brushed. "I shall consider it, though I will be the first to tell you the girl is useless and clumsy. Not to mention she speaks when she should not."

Lord Portgas shrugged, and Duchess Jewelry twisted her lip again.

"She needs a firm hand," she said, and Lord Portgas saw in his mind the picture of a swollen cheek with tears streaming down from violet eyes. It made him grimace. He was not one to apply a 'firm hand' on a lady of any rank. "I don't think you would like her."

"The offer still stands. I'm quite prepared to relieve you of her." Now more than ever Lord Portgas felt a pull to take the girl from the duchess' estate.

He would like to think it was his firmness that made her crumble, but he knew it was in her best interest to please him and answer to his demands, no matter how foolish.

"I will let you have her for what I paid for her at the slavers auction when I was last at Mariejois."

He eyed her grimly and nodded. He could see the duchess had perhaps a hint of sympathy in her, for she had bought a slave only to treat her as a servant rather than a creature fit only to toil endlessly. "How fair you are, Duchess. Both in honesty and beauty."

The reply satisfied her and she gave him a sultry smile that chilled his skin. Their conversation on the lake, or rather, that argument, was forgiven. He was really hoping it would be enough to convince her that it was not necessary to coerce him to do her biding by force. He had to make his getaway swiftly now, and hope that he would be able to gather up his newest servant and pay her asking price by mail.

They entered the duchess' courtyard and Lord Portgas prepared himself to ask for leave. He only got as far as opening his mouth before the duchess let out a noise not unlike the snorting of an upset horse.

"_Basil_! What on earth are you doing here?" she cried. The lord squinted into the sun, making out the shape of a rather broad-shouldered man with peculiar marks above his eyes. "Basil, speak!"

By the time they entered the towering shadow afforded by the duchess' manor, Lord Portgas had an idea of whom she was addressing. The long, straight blond hair, piercing eyes and unnerving presence were only a confirmation of his guess. "Hello, Mr. Hawkins," he called out, greeting the man in a long, archaically patterned robe who could very well act as his saviour. Perhaps with Duchess Jewelry distracted he would be able to put some distance between them before her witching powers reappeared to manipulate his body.

She hauled him over to Hawkins, grumbling about being uninformed of his arrival.

"I wished to see you, Duchess," Hawkins stated.

"Could it not have waited?" she complained. Hawkins didn't so much as shrug his shoulders, his pointed face doing all the work for him. Her whine bounced right off of him, and she saw she could not win against that sort of impenetrable brick wall. "Fine. Are you coming in? We were about to have tea and some Italian pastries before you interrupted us."

Basil Hawkins looked between the calm Lord Portgas and the woman who was decidedly infuriated by his sudden appearance. Something did not settle in his stomach well when he compared the two. "Lord Portgas, I haven't seen you since we first met, nor exchanged communication. Though that is partially my fault, as there was a death in my family and I have been occupied. You're long overdue for a reading, you know."

The lord blinked and then remembered the banquet thrown by the duchess back when he'd first arrived in Sabaody. "Ah, I have not forgotten, Mr. Hawkins. My apologies, but I hadn't the time to see you before now either. I am sorry for your loss of kin."

"Call me Basil," Hawkins said. "As for my dead uncle, he lasted longer than the cards said he would. I have never been one to honour the tradition of wearing black after a death, so that had also caused a stir within my remaining family." He smiled ruefully. "I suppose we ought to read the cards over a cup of tea, if we are to please our dearest duchess at all."

Duchess Jewelry huffed at being spoken about as if she were not present and set off for the manor, dragging the lord with her. She made a point of not acknowledging Hawkins as he held the door open for her and her victim.

Lord Portgas was rightfully distracted by Hawkins as the duchess barked out some orders to the servants in her home. Despite the heat the man gave him chills all down his arms and along the back of his neck, and he wondered just what he wanted to see the duchess about. He figured he needn't fear the man becoming jealous of the duchess' obvious desire for his company, as Hawkins seemed more concerned with keeping his back rail-straight as opposed to courting the woman of the estate. That didn't put him at ease, however. Where Hawkins wasn't concerned by the duchess, he was instead concerned with him.

"Lord Portgas–"

"Ace, if you may. It is only right."

"Ace, I have to admit your presence in this room is rather strong, even for a man of your status. There is something kingly about it, something very influential."

Lord Portgas pursed his lips. _He knows what I am_, he thought. _He __**knows**__. He has to have some sort of power, too. A man who practices cartomancy…perhaps he is something of a magician with an uncanny ability for sensing demons. Maybe he's even a wizard, though I have to doubt that for my own peace of mind._

Basil Hawkins strolled through the manor in the wake of the duchess' heels, and the lord followed him as he clearly had a purpose to his walk. They eventually came upon a large dinning table, and Hawkins took a seat to the left of the seat at the head of the table while the lord sat across from him. Elsewhere, the duchess was busy ordering someone around, her heeled boots clicking against the marble flooring as she stomped this way and that.

"I find you quite fascinating," Hawkins admitted at length, after they'd spent a minute staring across the oak table at one another. He laid his elbows carefully on the table and sat his chin in his palms. "I'm picking up very intriguing colours in the spectrum of your aura. Red is the dominant colour, with oranges and yellows surrounding it, but there is also a small bluish streak to your aura that is highly unusual given the previous colour combination. This blue, it seems to be growing brighter. Flaring, almost. An invading force perhaps?"

The lord didn't really wish to know how his aura appeared to the man. In fact, he'd be happier knowing nothing about his future and not having anyone dig around in his past. That would be ideal, but lately Lord Portgas was not having the best of luck at having his ideals fulfilled.

Lord Portgas watched Hawkins withdraw a deck of cards from his overcoat, his steely eyes never wavering from the lord's own. The deck was placed to the left and, wordlessly, Hawkins drew the top card and placed it directly in front of Lord Portgas.

"Please, flip it over."

The lord turned the card over and peered down at it with little interest. He did not know how to read them as the man in front of him did so it made little difference whether he looked or not.

As it was, the card showed a picture of a sexless being with serpents wound around and between the fabric that clothed it. Lord Portgas suppressed a smile. It appeared like a typical tarot card and he was sure the rest would be equally silly.

"Hmm. I have chosen to read tarot today instead of using an older deck that I do most of my divination with. I am using the Voodoo Tarot of the far South, one of my favourite decks, and not once have I ever drawn this card first. It is Simbi, the Eight of Swords, reversed. Whatever your issue is, there is much negativity surrounding it. It makes my skin twitch with intrigue."

Lord Portgas held his tongue and tried his best not to scoff at the slip of painted paper as Hawkins placed it back in his deck. He shuffled them for a long minute, during which time Duchess Jewelry appeared with a servant that placed tea in front of them and delectable pastries that admittedly occupied the lord's mind.

Meanwhile, Hawkins ignored his tea and the crumbs that were floating his way from the duchess' overindulgence and cut the deck. He drew several cards from the top and arranged them meticulously in a spread that he mumbled was called the Celtic Cross.

"This card that I am about to turn represents your goal, whatever that should be." Lord Portgas took a bite of a tart and raised his eyebrows. Goal? He could think of only one at the moment the card was flipped. The picture faced him this time, and he read the name inscribed on the bottom.

"Madame La Lune," he said, noting the picture of a woman near a lake, her face turned away from the viewer.

"Yes, the Nine of Cups. Interesting this should fall at the top of the Cross, for she represents contentment and satisfaction in romance, friendship, or other relationships. She also is tied with achieving your deepest desires and savouring beauty and sensual pleasures. She radiates fulfillment and bliss, and since this falls at the top of the Cross, you can consider this a representation of the goal that is currently on your mind."

"Oh, so he has a _fulfilling_ _romance_ in the picture?" asked the duchess coyly. Lord Portgas pointedly ignored her by examining the card closely. He dared not touch it, however, as the cards appeared frayed and ready to be ripped if mishandled by ignorant fingers.

"Perhaps," Hawkins replied vaguely. He flipped over the card at the opposite end of the spread. Its picture faced away from the lord, and he knew whatever to come next would be negative. Hawkins took a deep breath, and then with his eyes closed began to recite words that were rapidly forming in his mind. "The card at the bottom of the cross is the foundation on which the situation is based. This card is showing me two faces to this central problem or goal. In the case of romance, we could have a charming seducer who appears innocent and understanding, but is in fact selfish and unfaithful. Whether this is you or another is not for me to divine, but I should caution you to be wary of whom you devote yourself to."

Lord Portgas wrinkled his brow and pictured Marco, who was certainly the epitome of innocent to the lord's lusts yet at the same time oddly understanding of them. But he was never selfish, and his loyalty to the one he served was never questionable. It was then that he decided he would dismiss the card and the whole reading as he'd originally planned. It was silly tricks meant to exercise the mind, and that was all. However, he did not want to leave Basil with the desire to pursue him in hopes of finishing their session, and so could do nothing but wait it out.

The whole day was a waiting game, and Lord Portgas was not known for his patience.

Hawkins hand strayed to the left and he flipped a card whose picture faced away from the lord. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man whose face appeared perfectly emotionless.

"Well, Basil?" the duchess implored after Hawkins said nothing for a full minute. "If you aren't going to read his fortune at least drink your tea."

Hawkins continued to ignore his tea in favour of staring at the spread in front of him and the duchess called for another platter of dainties.

"That's a fairly disarming card," Lord Portgas said with a grim frown. Indeed, the card was ugly, not at all like Madame La Lune's picture. It was a picture of a man painted in shadows and clothed in dark robes, giving the card a sinister atmosphere. Then he realized the design had two faces to it, and it had taken him a second look to realize it.

"Hmm. The card is in a position that represents a passing influence, or something to be released. In this case, it may refer to a victory claimed before it is actually won or satisfaction from sensual pleasures disconnected from any sense of love."

The lord's thoughts drifted once more to Marco and the morning they shared together. There had been something strange that transpired after Marco had pleasured him. He didn't like to think about the depth of emotion he felt for the man and believe that his valet felt nothing at all in return. It was just too painful.

"My Lord, you are blanching," the duchess said, grabbing him as if he were about to topple over and away from her reach. "You look faint!"

"I'm fine," he said, a little rougher than necessary. He lifted the duchess' hand from his forearm and breathed deeply. Then he chastised himself for thinking about his sweet Marco in the presence of one who wished to make a deal with him and another who claimed to possess divinity that would reveal his life.

Meanwhile, Basil Hawkins ignored them both and flipped a card to the far right of the Cross. His disbelief moved the peculiar lines above his eyes. "Good Lord, Les Barons, _reversed_! This card is supposed to represent an approaching influence or something that should be embraced…but this is quite hard to put into a good light. Les Barons is a Wild Card, quite extreme in nature, and sex, violence, and regret revolve around it. It is an invasion of the everyday by forces that are primal and transcendental. Beware it, Ace."

"Thank you, Basil," Lord Portgas said tersely. He was unsure if the man was indeed a wizard of sorts and knew his true nature, that which was described in the card that had caused a stir in the way Hawkins now eyed him.

He sat through another two cards wordlessly. Both were bleak and reversed to face away from him. It bothered him more than he knew it should have. When Hawkins flipped over the fourth reversed card in a row, Lord Portgas simply shook his head in disbelief and prepared himself to mentally defend against whatever negative meaning this one would have.

"King of Wands, Petro Houngan. This card is in a position that serves to describe your environment and the people around you. A different force is telling me that one description may in fact be you, the rest people you've met or interacted with in some way."

Hawkins stared at the card and placed a finger over the name inscribed at the bottom, his eyes blinking slowly. "An artist whose depraved love of chaos causes him to take hold of destructive ideas and make them appealing to the masses. One who is charismatic and intimidating, using demonstrations of his own skill to dupe others into accepting responsibilities beyond their ability. There is also a dashing and magnetic personality, appearing and disappearing with great suddenness, and leaving upheaval in his wake. I see the dark essence of fire behaving as air. Be careful of whom you let around yourself, my Lord. The fire looks to smother."

He willed his eyes not to stray in the direction of the duchess, who was picking at her nails and looking utterly bored with the lack of interesting gossip that she was used to at her table.

Finally, there was but one card left to be overturned, and Hawkins explained that it was the card that represented the ultimate outcome should Lord Portgas continue on the path he was on. He flipped it over.

"The Hanged Man. Zombi."

Lord Portgas paled once more. "I shall be hanged?"

Hawkins had the audacity to laugh at him, though his laugh was more a tiny chuckle that made his long straight hair swish to the side. "No," he said simply. "The card is facing you, and it is meant to make you think of pausing and reflecting on actions that could be taken. It encourages the embrace of new ideas through sacrifice. By letting go of inhibitions, you could have inner peace, faith in self, and serenity. Think of it as a card of change. This is the endgame."

"Well, that sounds like a nice ending," the duchess said while the lord continued to stare at the table long after the cards had been scooped up, shuffled, and placed back into a leather case in the man's pocket. "Now, I have promised you, Mr. Portgas, that I would show you that painting of the _Moby Dick_, and I intend to keep my word."

"I will show myself out," Hawkins said, rising. Both still seated were surprised, but the duchess beamed at him after recovering from her initial shock.

"It was very nice seeing you again, Basil," she said sweetly. Underneath the sugary coating the lord knew she was dancing a malicious jig. "Do drop by again, only this time please send advance notice. Next time I may not be home to greet you and that would be a real shame."

Hawkins smiled thinly and departed, however he paused in the doorway of the parlour and stared back at Lord Portgas. Their eyes met and they politely nodded to one another, as was custom. Then Hawkins said, "I do hope you'll reflect on what I have seen in the cards. It was an fascinating reading for me, that much I'm sure you've gathered."

Lord Portgas nodded again with some submission and Hawkins was soon gone, though oddly enough his presence seemed to remain in the room.

The duchess wasted no time jumping up and taking him by the arm. His eyes strayed down to her hand and he knew it was fruitless to try and run. He got a grand tour of her art gallery next, and when he was introduced to the painting she'd written about in her letter he found himself rather in awe. It was magnificent in content, perhaps even more so than the last one, but the inscription made him uneasy.

"_Edd War_. That was a catastrophic battle," the duchess informed him. "It was between the Golden Lion Shiki's fleet and the _Oro Jackson_ captained by the Pirate King, though Whitebeard got caught up in it by being in the area at the time, or so they say. Anything that is not a first hand account is debatable. At any rate, Whitebeard did not engage in combat, only sailed forward through it. Rumour has it he had precious cargo, though it was not jewels or gold aboard, so I'm curious as to what it could have been."

Lord Portgas sighed and looked at the painting. The _Oro Jackson_ was but a speck on the Edd Sea in the New World, and Shiki's fleet spotted the canvas like little bugs. The main focus was on the _Moby Dick_, but it was a painting done in a hurry. In fact, the painting lacked a signature, and it came to his attention that the style of the painting was not quite in step with the other works he owned. The brushwork was distinctive.

"This is not Silvers Rayleigh's work," he said firmly. "It is too different."

"It does not have a signature, true, but it is attributed to the man, for who else would be able to paint this scene? All who sailed in Shiki's fleet disappeared and Whitebeard had no painters aboard. No painters that we know of, anyway."

Lord Portgas shook his head. He did not come here to debate with the duchess over a piece of art. Still, he found he wanted a second opinion to confirm his suspicions, and the painting was still primarily focussed on the _Moby Dick_, which made it all the more valuable in his eyes. "Will you consider selling this to me? I know I have deprived you of one piece of art already, but this I am willing to pay far above the price you have paid to obtain it."

"Oh, you may have it for nothing," the duchess said. "It was a gift to me and thus it shall be a gift to you. I would like to deliver it myself, however, and perhaps you might show me around your grounds when I come by to drop it off."

His eyes widened. "That is beyond charitable of you. Can I not pay you?"

"You will pay me for the girl, but that is all. Like I said, I paid nothing to obtain this painting from Admiral X. Drake." She smiled and he caught something sinister in the way her lips curved. She held from him secrets he was sure he did not want to know. He was glad her hands were covered by the soft lace of her gown, for he did not trust himself to keep from staring at her hands should they appear before him.

"I will send the servant over today. Do not worry about the payment for her; I will collect it personally when I bring my men by to deliver the painting. I do hope you'll find the girl satisfactory after a bit of training." Duchess Jewelry giggled, "I _did _warn you that she was clumsy, did I not?"

"You did," he replied, trying to feign a smile. It was hard, and his facial muscles tightened further when she suddenly embraced him and lay her cheek against his neck. Her breath in his ear made his insides curdle.

"And please, _do _think carefully about that offer. We could be…most powerful together, my Lord."

Her lips grazed his jaw with a soft kiss and she drew back to give him a bewitching stare that did nothing to capture him.

She left his side without a backwards glance and he headed for the door. A servant opened it for him and he strode out, noting how late the day was and how far the sun had dipped below the trees. The fresh air was a welcome change, and it had cooled off considerably with the addition of dark clouds overhead. He looked up and wondered if it would rain. Then, his thoughts strayed back to the manor he had come out of and the witch that lurked its insides.

How easily he had obtained the painting. He pursed his lips, letting the cool air temper him, and then furrowed his brow. The sun earlier had somehow made him slow in the mind, for he now knew exactly why she was so willing to gift him with things. She was baiting him, of course, for marriage, and in her mind she must have reasoned with herself that letting him take things from her estate posed no loss to her, as she would simply re-acquire her things by marching him into a church.

He shivered. Marriage was a scary thing that he'd oft had to face when he hadn't made his getaway soon enough from a woman he'd bedded. Ever since hitting a certain age where he got a taste for lifting the hems of dresses he'd been considered a fool by all whom knew him intimately. Trafalgar, for instance, had the pleasure of dealing with his past fallouts.

"Lord Portgas, your horse," said a servant, holding his black charger. He was oddly quiet, the brutish beast, and the lord distantly wondered if this stablehand knew any tricks he himself had yet to discover.

"Thank you." He grabbed the reins and tossed them over the horse's neck, laying them over the saddle's pommel that he grasped with his other hand. However, before he could hoist himself into the saddle, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jolted, not having heard anyone come up to him and seeing the servant who'd brought his horse walking away.

He turned fully and regarded Basil Hawkins with surprise evident in every pore of his skin. "Oh. It's just you. Basil."

Hawkins blinked at him and exhaled a long breath. "I've been waiting. The witch kept you long."

His eyelids peeled back fully and he experienced a second jolt of surprise. "Excuse me?" he said softly, unable to believe that Hawkins knew the true nature of the duchess.

But it was true, and the truth lay in the fine curve of a smile Hawkins freely showed him. "Indeed, the witch. I dared not to tell you a…tangle of words that came to me as I read you. It was something I believed was private and not fit for her scrutiny." He took another deep breath and exhaled. "The card detailing your environment, and those surrounding you, it whispered something else to me and that is why I was silent for so long. Something that is meaningless to me but may hold something for you, Ace."

Lord Portgas waited expectantly, and Hawkins did not disappoint.

"One seeks your fortune, one seeks your life. There is one whom wants to see you in the middle of the night. There are two that have travelled the seas for you, and two that have a desire to set out on another blue." Hawkins paused and his eyes flicked towards the manor containing the duchess. "These people, I wonder what they mean to you. Perhaps it is nothing that applies to you at all, but I feel I should warn you that my readings are impeccably accurate. Good day, Ace."

"Goodbye, Basil." His voice was quiet as he watched Hawkins disappear in the opposite direction he himself was planning on going. With a tart taste in his mouth and a strange heaviness in his gut, he mounted his steed and left the estate of the duchess behind him.

-oOo-

It was morning and he could see dust floating in front of his eyes, something miniscule that told him he was not safe in his own bed at home where any and all dust was banished by his boggart. Dr. Trafalgar blinked at the dust some and eventually turned away, his cheek and much of his face sinking into a luxurious blanket. It insulated his body and he wondered if it were down stuffed, which stopped his heart as he thought of Penguin and the way his feathers had simply fallen away from his skin upon healing that wretched boggart.

He sat straight up in bed and looked about wildly with blurry eyes. No one was suffering. No, that was not entirely true. His limbs, oh how they ached. And, more than that, his insides felt as though they had been impaled repeatedly, which formed his conclusion of where he was and why he ached.

He thoughts recalled the beastly creature, the _cambion_ that had so utterly claimed him. The taste in his mouth repulsed him and he spat a glob of saliva over the side of the bed, onto the floor.

"Your manners are indeed lacking."

He fixed his eyes on red hair and a pale complexion. "You are not the one who should be lecturing on _manners_, Lord Eustass."

The lord rose leisurely from a chair in the farthest corner of the room, and Trafalgar noted that none of his limbs were shackled or tied down to anything. The idea that he could move freely bounced around in his mind, but his body kept assuring him that to move would cause him extreme pain, so he remained still and focussed on recovering in small bursts. Besides, he was quite aware that he'd been stripped of all clothing. Not that it meant much to either of them, having seen each other unclothed not so long ago. It would, however, be cold should he choose to run now.

He watched the lord move towards him and his muscles clenched, sending an oddly blissful pang through his veins. He really had been used well. He was delightfully sore in certain places. The thought was not as unsettling as it should have been. In fact, he would describe himself as feeling sexually sated, not yearning for anything else.

That unnerved him more than the lord coming to sit near his feet at the end of the bed. Instinctively, he curled his legs up and regarded the lord with a haughty smile. "You just cannot keep away from me, can you?"

"No."

The snappish reply caught Trafalgar slightly off-guard and his smile faltered. "Oh. Well I…"

"Lie down and rest."

"I don't believe I answer to the likes of you," the doctor said with a sneer.

Lord Eustass eyes blazed, but not with the anger Trafalgar had so easily evoked in him in the past. Instead, it was a hearty blaze of cheeriness, though morbid in nature. "Ah, but you _do _answer to me. You are _mine_, and I'll do with you what I see fit. And right now, I want you to rest and recover, because I have plans for you that require your physical fitness."

Trafalgar did not like that, not one bit.

"A free man belongs to no one but himself. Go grab one of your guns and shoot holes in both your feet, because only then might you begin grasp the pain you have put me through, you awful brute."

Lord Eustass found this hilarious, and his laugh boomed in the small room that Trafalgar was absorbing and seeking an item in that he could use to his advantage. So far only a broken chair caught his attention, one of the legs having fallen off. If only he could get to it and bludgeon the lord to death…

The thought inevitably led him to imagining further what would happen, all of the blood pooling out of the lord's fat, arrogant head. His imagination caused his stomach to cry out in anguish.

The lord stopped laughing at the odd sound of Trafalgar's stomach churning its empty wasteland for something to absorb and nourish it. "You are hungry," he stated with vague interest.

"Yes. I am," Trafalgar stated just as simply. His reply got barely a response, but the lord eyed his naked chest like a wolf sizing up the revealed meat on a freshly shaved sheep. He did not like being subjected to the eyes of this beast.

"Why don't you have something to eat?"

Trafalgar gaped at him. Had the lord really _forgotten _what it was that he preferred to dine on? "Your dumbness is staggering," he said at length.

Surprisingly, Lord Eustass did not try to strangle him for that comment. Instead, he moved closer to Trafalgar by scooting along the edge of the bed. _Then _he tried to strangle him.

Or at least that was what Trafalgar thought as those strong arms reached for him and grasped his sides. He struck out and landed a hit on the man's neck with his knuckle, but he found his arms were soon useless as the lord pulled him into his lap and wrapped his arms around his body, keeping his fists from inflicting further harm.

The harsh movement brought fresh pain, and Trafalgar breathed shallowly in an effort to deal with the currents racing through him. He was distracted by the breathing in his ear, the lord's hot breath on his shoulder. If he turned his face up, he could silence the lord by placing his lips upon the other's. The thought made him grimace.

"Feed, then."

"What?" Trafalgar grumbled, sure he had heard something different than what was uttered.

"Go ahead. Drink, or whatever you call it when you suck blood out of me."

Trafalgar felt himself go pale. This… This he had never expected. An invitation. The likes of which he had never received from another until now. His skin continued to pale with his shock, and he became acutely aware of how the lord nuzzled his cheek against his dark hair. Like an animal rubbing its scent on its possession. Or, its mate.

_Oh no_, Trafalgar thought. _Hell. Is he…? No, he can't be. But then, he was spawned of a succubus. It is very possible that he inherited __**that**__ trait…_

"You are _mine_," Lord Eustass whispered again, his arms tightening around Trafalgar's body. "All _mine_."


End file.
